


The Stag And The Snake: Anima Speculo Maledictum

by JBankai89



Series: The Stag and The Snake [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Animal Transformation, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evil Severus Snape, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Mild OoC, Non-Animagi Animal Transformation, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 85,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6727621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBankai89/pseuds/JBankai89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years have passed since the harrowing events following the Lughnasadh Ball. Harry is trapped by a curse and his own mind. Draco refuses to believe that Harry is dead, despite all the evidence pointing to that verdict. Sirius and Remus grieve for the loss of their son, but refuse to believe that he is truly dead. Will family and lovers ever be reunited, or will it all end in chaos?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stag

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is _The Stag and The Snake_ part 2! Go back and read Coupling first if you haven't already, then come back to this. I was gonna wait longer to start posting this, but I am an impatient bastard by nature, so whatever. I hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
> The page breaks or whatever the hell they're called (~*~) refers to a POV switch. Since it's all in the third person I'm fairly certain that it won't get too confusing. If anyone finds it difficult to follow please let me know and I'll fix it.
> 
>  **A Note on the Tags:** I just want to clarify that there will def be noncon touching/sexual assault in this story but at no point will it evolve into rape. I was reluctant to use the rape/noncon warning, because I felt that it might exaggerate the noncon elements in the story. If anyone feels that I was too light-handed with the tagging, I'll add the archive noncon warning. Just let me know.

Part II: Anima Speculo Maledictum

 

Chapter 1 – The Stag

 

A natural wonder of forest, with greenery spanning for several miles in every direction.

The trees were old maple, oak, evergreen, and spruces; craggy rock formations were dotted with ivy, and the close, claustrophobic proximity of the flora was almost suffocating.

The early spring birdsong filled the twilight of dusk, and the wood is alive with activity. Squirrels were dashing into their nests for the night, badgers and raccoons were beginning to stir, and a large variety of wildflowers were curling their petals inward as night consumed the last remnants of the day.

Almost hidden in the dense forest sat a derelict castle. Its once tall towers and walls were now a crumbling mess of rock and clay. Saplings had grown through the ruin, moss had claimed the rock, and nature reclaimed man's attempt to own her.

A large, open meadow sat at the ruin's feet, a perfect circle encasing a field of wildflowers, and in the shadow of the trees that bordered it, a young stag lay there. Its elegant head rested morosely across its front legs, and it stared blankly at the ground beneath its hooves.

The shadow of a man appeared quite suddenly amongst the foliage.

His voluminous black robes flared behind him as he strode towards the meadow in the deepening night, and he came to a stop close to its centre, though most of his form was still lost in shadow. He found the stag easily, and he watched it with an amused smirk.

“Come now,” he said to it, “you know that it does not work unless you are bathed in moonlight.”

The animal looked up, its expression almost mournful as it it stood slowly. His fur was a soft brown, save for the imperfection of a jagged swath of white upon its forehead—almost light a bolt of lightning. The beast took several timid steps backward, and the man chuckled.

“If you do not step into the light, you will stay that way. Is that really what you want?” he asked it, and cocked a brow.

The creature paused, its expression again nearly human. It bowed its head slightly and walked into the meadow. The beast stopped in the centre, just as the moon, past full and beginning to wane, rose overhead.

It bathed the animal in moonlight; the stag reared, and it was consumed in a pure, white light. A moment later, the light dissipated. The stag was gone, and in its place a young man sat crumpled amongst the flowers. It was very small compared to the animal that had occupied the space mere moments before, and as he stood up slowly, his vibrant green eyes seemed to flare as he glared at the man. The older man swept forward at once, and gathered the young man into his arms as though he was a most precious treasure.

“You know it pains me to see you like this, Harry,” he murmured into Harry's hair as he trailed his fingers up and down his back. Harry shuddered under his touch. “If you'd only agree to bond with me, I'd be more than willing to lift the curse.”

Harry wrenched away from him at once, still slightly unsteady on his feet, and he shot the man a look of the deepest loathing.

“You've asked me the same question, every night, for the past five years,” he spat with disgust, “do you honestly expect a different answer, Snape? I will _never_ bond with you.”

Snape's eyes glittered dangerously in a quiet, even rage that he reserved only for Harry. Harry swallowed nervously, but did not allow his fear to show on his face. Snape strode forward and grasped the front of the boy's robes before he could get away, and carded the fingers of his free hand delicately through Harry's hair—a lover's touch. Harry shivered.

“Then you will be cursed, Mr Potter,” Snape purred, while he regarded Harry with a look of intense desire and anger in equal measure. He ignored the boy's desperate struggling, and ghosted a kiss over his protesting lips before he added, “and remain cursed.”

Snape released Harry with a sharp shove, and he fell to the ground. The older man disappeared in a swirl of black, and Harry was left alone.

Harry didn't bother to stand up; instead he pulled his legs forward, and wrapped his arms around them. He pressed his forehead against his thighs, and sighed miserably.

Five miserable years trapped in a deep forest—cursed to live his days as a stag, and his nights as a human. Harry shivered; the thin robes he had been forced into by his captor were uncomfortably revealing, and did little to keep him warm. He turned his head to the side and looked around the meadow—his prison. Snape did not need chains or dungeons to keep Harry captive when the curse did all the work for him. He could not chance leaving or going too far, because if he was unable to return to the meadow by moonrise, he would be unable to change back, and would be forced to spend the night in his stag form.

Harry felt tears sting his eyes, though they never spilled. He _ached._ Hopelessness had long consumed his mind, happily nudged along and encouraged by Snape. What little strength that he still had he saved for rejecting the man's nightly request—any more than that was just exhausting.

Unbidden, Harry's mind went back to _that night_. Harry felt almost consumed with grief at the recollection of it.

Not for the first time, Harry wondered what may have happened if he or Draco had bothered to tell Sirius, or Remus, or even Lucius what had happened with Snape. Would it have made a difference, or would he still have ended up here?

The thought of Draco made Harry's stomach twist into knots of newfound grief.

He had been so _happy_ that night. Of all the people Harry had imagined to bring him such joy, he never thought it would have been Draco Malfoy. Would he ever see him again, Harry wondered, and he struggled to untangle the toxic remarks of Snape's from what he truly believed.

Draco had cared for him, but did he still? It had been so _long_. Was he being foolish, holding onto the memory of person who had shown him romantic love for the first time?

Harry's stoicism broke, and clutched his knees as a sob escaped from him.

 

“ _Draco._ ”  


~*~  


“Sirius?”

Sirius looked up at the call of his name.

Once so youthful in spite of his age, Sirius Black's face now carried deep lines of age, and a hollowed, emptiness in his eyes. The years, the fevered searching, and the disappointment that always followed had been unkind to his visage. Sirius felt weary, much older than his years, and just so very tired.

His bonded appeared in the doorway, and Remus's expression softened slightly at the sight of him, and the look was one that Sirius had seen often lately—it was the sad, pitying expression one might give to a widower.

“How long have you been in here?” Remus asked, his even tone not accusatory, angry, or even disapproving as he regarded the other man.

Sirius looked around him, and felt a dull ache as he took in the Gryffindor flag pinned haphazardly to the faded blue wall, the duvet upon the bed, fresh and clean, while the desk, wardrobe, and bookcase, in contrast, were coated in a thick layer of dust.

Harry's room was virtually unchanged; Sirius knew that he would need his room back when they found him, and he always kept the simple twin bed fresh and clean, though he could not bear to disturb almost anything else in the room.

“I just—” Sirius began, his voice was barely a hoarse whisper as he broke off, and tried again. “I just wanted to sit with him a while.”

The words made the older man's stomach tighten, as he was engulfed in momentary grief. His vision became hazy, and he looked down to the framed photograph in his hands. A young, bespectacled boy waved up at him with a jovial smile, and Sirius felt his eyes burn.

Remus stepped inside, his expression turning to genuine grief as he joined the man upon the edge of the bed. Sirius bent forward, pressing his fingers into the corners of his eyes in a feeble attempt to compose himself.

“I _know_ he's alive, Remus. I just _know_ it. He'll need somewhere to stay when he comes back...” He trailed off, raking a hand through his hair. Remus didn't speak, but wrapped an arm around Sirius's shoulders, neither discouraging or encouraging his unwavering faith, and just held him as he broke down completely.

 

~*~

“Draco please, be reasonable!”

Narcissa's pleas followed the young man as he burst from the parlour and into the adjoining hall. His normally fair skin was red and blotchy with anger. His mother's attempts to placate him had achieved the opposite, and made his anger flare all the more.

“ _Reasonable!_ ” Draco all but shrieked the word in his disbelief. He paced in front of her, refusing to meet her eye. “ _How_ is organizing a Beltane celebration specifically for me to find a husband supposed to _help_ me?” He whirled around and met his mother's eye at last with a nasty glare, then returned to his pacing.

He needed to find Harry.

He didn't need anyone to replace him.

“Now _really,”_ Narcissa huffed as she straightened up and stepped in front of her son, forcing him to stop his angry pacing. “The contract has been nullified, it was nothing but a pile of ash when the Ministry Archives people found it the next morning. Harry Potter is _dead,_ Draco. You need to move on, and finding someone you can settle down with will help you do that!”

The words cut deep. How could his mother say that? Harry wasn't dead—he just _wasn't_.

“He. Is. _Not_. Dead.” Draco snarled each word mere inches from his mother's appalled face. He took a step back and took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself and reorganize his thoughts, though it did little to help. He raked his fingers through his hair, and lowered his tone of voice to something more even, though it still shook with anger and misery. “He's not, mother. I know he's alive. I don't know how, but I just _know_ it.”

He turned following his words, intending to storm from the room when his mother's furious voice cut through the air again.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, we are _not_ finished,” Narcissa cried to his retreating back, “don't you _dare_ stalk off to that mutt and his wolf again!”

The jibe towards Sirius and Remus was the last straw, and after he turned back briefly to shoot his mother another glare, Malfoy heir stormed out without a word.

The past five years had been hell for Draco.

He was disgusted with himself on so many levels for so many things, and it was a self-loathing that Draco was wholly unused to experiencing. How could he _not_ feel such crushing guilt, after what he had spent years doing to Harry?

  
_Bully_.

  
The word made Draco feel sick with shame.

His mind was filled constantly with memories of his treatment of Harry over the years—abandoning him in the forest, nearly getting him killed on more than one occasion, pointedly ignoring him, and relishing in his guardians' reluctance to stop in and help him. He wanted to lay blame on Remus and Sirius for rarely intervening, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. So much of it was on him.

Hogwarts was another piece of his past that Draco felt himself going over with a fine tooth comb. Maybe if he had been more forthright in his affections, instead of using their last year to manhandle him, things may have turned out differently. Draco felt a wave of nausea washed over him. How could he have let this happened?

Draco looked up, his memories clouding his physical actions, and he found that he had walked to the new Apparition spot, with little focus on where he was actually going. He could never bring himself to use to old one—remembering that that had been the scene of Harry's kidnapping, he couldn't return there. He just _couldn't_.

Draco took a slow breath to calm himself and push away the memories, then he turned on the spot, and threw himself into the void.

Though Remus and Sirius had told him on numerous occasions that he was welcome to Apparate directly into their flat, his old habits of wizarding etiquette refused to die. Instead, brought himself inside the building's front doors, and ascended to the little flat. He knocked three times upon the hardwood of the door, and it was thrown open almost at once. Sirius's wide-eyed hopeful expression fell almost at once upon seeing Draco.

“I'm sorry, Sirius,” Draco said as the older man stepped aside to let him in, “my mother's trying to organize some sort of party to find me a husband.” He rolled his eyes. “So the ensuing screaming match with her caused me to be a little tardy today.”

“It's fine, Draco,” he said in a clear attempt to sound casual, though it was marred slightly by his obvious disappointment. Draco did not feel offended by the man's reaction to seeing him at the door; they were all praying for Harry's safe return. “Do you have any ideas of how we can proceed with our search?” He followed Sirius's lead into the sitting room as he spoke, and they were joined a moment later by Remus and a floating tea tray.

Draco barely acknowledged the tea and cakes, and instead pulled out a creased scroll of parchment from the inside of his blazer—to the horror of his parents, he had begun wearing muggle garments more and more often, his small way of remembering Harry.

He unrolled the map, and it displayed a vague outlined sketch of the British Isles, and after Draco had spread it flat, he prodded the lower half of the map with the tip of his wand. At once, the drawing disappeared, and the parchment was refilled with a highly detailed map of southern England.

“I'm still not entirely certain who could have taken him,” Draco said, his eyes scanning the map intently as he spoke, “for a while I thought it may have been Snape, but he's still at Hogwarts, and he isn't acting any differently, from what I've seen and heard. I'm starting to think his words at Harry and I that night may have just been an empty threat.” Draco jabbed at the map again, and several segments of the black ink changed to a muted red. “The problem is, there was easily over two hundred guests that night, and a good portion of them were definitely Death Eaters that claimed to be innocent, and there's not really a concrete way that I know of to divide the innocents from the liars.”

“Keep in mind that Severus was a double agent for many years,” Remus reminded him calmly, while he poured a good measure of milk into his teacup, turning the brew almost white. “While I am reluctant to lay blame on him, you can't rely on how he is acting as a deciding factor. The same can be said for many of the free Death Eaters. If they were clever enough to escape Azkaban, you can be sure that it will be difficult to wheedle a confession out of them.”

“That's true,” Draco said, frowning a little, and returned his attention to the map. “We've canvassed most of the known wizarding communities here,” he pointed to the red parts of the map, “but could it be possible that he's being held elsewhere, like a muggle city?”

“Anything's possible, unfortunately,” Sirius said, his tone still a little deflated, “and in a city like muggle London, there are millions and millions of people. It makes finding one face in the crowd more than a little difficult.” Sirius fell silent for a moment, his face falling in momentary despair, then added, his voice taking on a hoarse quality, “we'll need to come up with some kind of strategy if we plan to move on to non-wizarding areas.”

“I was thinking maybe one of those magical detection charms, like the Improper Use of Magic Office uses, but they can be a little vague,” Draco said, and grimaced a little as he said it, but tapped the map again, and it rewrote itself to show the whole of muggle London in perfect detail.

“It's an idea, but we'll likely just be going in circles, and chances are we'll end up locating Muggle-Borns more than anything else,” Remus replied as he sipped his tea, his expression thoughtful.

“So back to square one, then,” Sirius added as he massaged his temples, and shifted his gaze to the crackling fire in the grate.

“Sirius,” Draco said suddenly as he pressed his fingers against his chin thoughtfully, “how does your Animagi transformation work?” Both Sirius and Remus stared at him quizzically, surprised at the sudden subject change.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Well, your form is a dog, right? Well do you have the same animal instincts that a true dog would? For example, if we gave you something of Harry's after you transformed, would you be able to follow his scent?” Draco asked, and following his question, Sirius lapsed into silence, the thumb and forefinger of his right hand rubbing along his stubbled chin thoughtfully.

“I've never tried it,” he replied after a moment of contemplative silence, “I haven't had a need to use it, really, but my senses are...maybe not heightened, but different.” He lifted his gaze to meet Draco's eyes. “Perhaps we should experiment with it before we get ahead of ourselves, though.”

“I have an idea we may be able to test that,” Remus added suddenly, but the strange glint in the werewolf's eye was strangely less than reassuring.

Two hours later, Draco found himself in a situation that definitely did not befit his status as a Malfoy.

They were standing in a clearing just beyond the Malfoy Manor; Draco's family technically owned the surrounding land, and as such they were less likely to be disturbed, though that did not stop his parents from snooping in on their activities, should they choose to come looking.

“Is this really necessary?” he asked the pair for the dozenth time, shivering a little as he peeled off his blazer.

“We need to test your theory, Draco,” Remus said patiently; it was not the first time they'd had this discussion. “Sirius knows me too well, so, as the phrase goes, you're it,” Remus finished, and his eyes glittered with amusement, and Draco shot him a dirty look in response.

“I don't see why we need to play some ridiculous form of hide-and-seek, though,” Draco grumbled, “why can't we just...I don't know, hide things for Sirius to find?”

“What am I, a Locater Spell?” Sirius demanded. He looked no more pleased with the proceedings than Draco did.

“Besides,” Sirius added, “considering we're looking for a person, not a thing, it would probably be best to use something with hot blood in its veins, so to speak.”

“If my father catches us, I'm dead,” Draco mumbled sullenly, but offered up no more protests. “All right, Remus, do it.” He tossed the man his jacket, absently rubbing his arms against the slight chill. Remus caught it deftly and turned to Sirius, raised his wand, and tapped the man's forehead once. Sirius grimaced as a blindfold coiled itself tightly around his eyes, and something similar to Professor Sprout's fluffy earmuffs covered his ears. If Draco hadn't been so consumed with worry about whether or not this would work, the image would have been rather funny. Remus nodded to Draco silently, and he took off into the wood.

Draco and Remus had decided early on that they should forgo making the task easy for Sirius and working up to something more difficult. If it was to work, it had to work now. Draco ran, darting through the trees, feeling the warmth of the aftereffects of Remus's charm following him, erasing his footprints until he was well out of sight.

The forest darkened around Draco as he moved, the thick trees making it look closer to twilight or predawn than the spring afternoon that it happened to be. Draco threw himself behind the trunk of a thick oak and paused to catch his breath. The brief sprint had helped to warm him up slightly, despite the chill in the air as the season desperately clung to the coattails of winter. After a moment, he heard a rustle in the wood behind him. He did not pause to see if it was Sirius or some other animal, and took off running again.

The wood fell into silence again, and a dark shadow fluttered like a curtain caught in the breeze. A man with black robes and sallow skin stepped out from the shadow where he had been watching them.

“Play your games, Mr Malfoy,” he whispered, and watched a great hulking mass of canine streak past, not even noticing him, “you will _never_ find him.”


	2. Nose Over Tail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Holy macaroni you guys! I was a little nervous about how the sequel would be received, but clearly I was worried over nothing (again). I'm really glad you guys are enjoying it. Here is chapter two! I may not be able to post the next chapter for a couple days, but I'll try to not take too long. Technically 90% of the story is written, its just a matter of finding the time to post, as my work week starts tomorrow. Anywho, enjoy!

 Chapter 2 - Nose Over Tail

 

Snape did not make himself known straightaway that evening, though Harry could sense his approach.

Harry was sitting in the meadow under the gentle moonlight, his fingers brushing lightly over the petals of the buttercup flowers, little more than sealed buds, closed off from the world. He felt a warmth in his abdomen, a tingle that soon spread upwards to his chest, down his arms, across his legs, before completely enclosing his form. He looked down at himself and found his robes transfigured into white, form-fitting satin with delicate silver embroidery similar to Celtic knots around the cuffs that replaced the cotton-poly blend of black he had been wearing. Bonding robes.

He stood slowly, and took his time to turn and face his captor. Harry glared, while Snape looked on with a smile of amusement that chilled Harry to the core.

“Don't you ever get tired of asking me the same thing seventeen-hundred nights in a row?” Harry asked, and gritted his teeth in something close to a snarl as he waited for a response.

“And if you had used those impressive maths skills for something other than rule-breaking, how different your life may have been,” Snape replied, and smirked as he reached for Harry and snaked an arm around the young man's waist. He threaded the fingers of his opposite hand with Harry's, and the young man squirmed and struggled until he was able to wrench away from him with a noise of disgust. The transfiguration spell broke, and Harry's robes changed back. 

“Being near you makes my skin crawl, Snape,” Harry growled, “my answer is still no, never, no way, nuh-uh, et cetera; fuck off.” He spun away from Snape and stalked off, but he reappeared before Harry almost at once in a swirl of Apparition. 

Harry stumbled back in an effort to get away from the older wizard, but a strong hand coiled around his upper arm with bruising force before he could get away. Harry grimaced, despite his efforts to hide the wince of pain.

“You still hold onto that foolish hope that your silver knight will save you?” Snape hissed with cold fury, “my taking you nullified that ridiculous contract. Mr Malfoy has no reason to go chasing after his precious _Boy Who Lived_. He does not care for you.” 

Snape threw away Harry's arm as though it had burned him. Harry staggered back, but managed to keep himself from falling. He took several steadying breaths as he regarded the older man with a look of deep disgust.

“You're wrong, Snape,” Harry growled with as much feigned defiance as he could muster, “you can't keep me here forever.” 

“Flee if you wish, then,” Snape replied with a dark chuckle, “see how far you can get before dawn, my little quadruped.” Snape barked another laugh, and without another word, he Disapparated. 

Harry's knees gave way beneath him, and he let out a cry of frustration and despair. His fingers clawed at his hair, and his scream echoed back to him in a painful reminder of how alone he truly was.

 

~*~

 

“Sirius! Are you even taking this _seriously_?” Draco snapped as he stormed out of the wood for the fifth time that evening. The shaggy dog bounded ahead of him, and a moment later he morphed back into a man. He turned and glared at the youth.

“It's not as easy as lighting a candle, Draco,” he snapped, and grabbed the young man's blazer off the overhanging tree, then tossed it to him. Draco caught it deftly as Sirius continued his angry rant. “I've told you at least a dozen times, it's not an instinct that comes naturally to me as it might to a natural dog or wolf. You need to let me get a handle on this _before_ we try it outside our little controlled tests.” Draco gritted his teeth, but he didn't answer back.

“I know that you're eager to test this, Draco,” Remus said as he approached the two at their meeting site, defusing the situation easily as he clasped Sirius's hand and lightly squeezed Draco's shoulder. Both men seemed to deflate a little as they turned to the werewolf. 

“But,” Remus continued, “it will all be for nothing if we don't perfect it beforehand.” Draco averted his gaze, and kicked at the grass. 

“I know,” He replied with a sullen huff, and watched the blades of grass flutter back to the ground from where his boot had uprooted them. “It's been so long though, and I just want to find him.” He looked back up to find his feelings reflected back at him by the two older men.

“We'll find him Draco,” Remus replied, his voice ringing with absolute certainty, “and we _will_ bring him home.”

 

~*~

 

Later that night, Sirius and Remus used the Floo Network to return home from Malfoy Manor. While Sirius normally preferred Apparition, Draco's generous offering of his father's stores of Madam Rosmerta's oak-matured mead had made Sirius more than a little unsteady, and he was fairly certain that Lucius would not be pleased if he splinched himself in the parlour.

He stumbled out of the grate, and the spinning form of Remus joined him a moment later, Sirius just barely getting out of the way in time. His eyes were slightly glazed, and he pressed a hand to the centre of Sirius's back.

“Some tea, I think,” Remus said; he seemed to be much more steady on his feet than Sirius was at the moment.

“And maybe a generous dose of that hangover draught,” Sirius added as he followed Remus's lead to the sofa, and sat down heavily while Remus conjured the platter. Remus chuckled at the request, and summoned the tiny vial with a second flick of his wand. 

Sirius caught it as it zoomed across the room, and knocked back the violet liquid with a shudder, then accepted the cup of tea from Remus gratefully.

“You'd think by now they'd've invented a hangover potion that doesn't taste like a Death Eater's asshole,” Sirius muttered with a shudder, and Remus huffed in quiet laughter while he shook his head a little.

“I'm sure that's top of the list, right after making a workable cheese cauldron,” Remus replied, and Sirius laughed as he eased back into the sofa's cushions. Despite the difficulty of the day, Sirius could not deny that it was nice to be home. 

“I don't want you or Draco to despair,” Remus said suddenly, and immediately brought Sirius's attention back to their activities of the day. He reached over and took Sirius hand, and Remus rubbed his palm with his thumb soothingly. “I want find Harry too, but perfecting this and seeing if it will even work...it _will_ take time. Rushing headlong into this will only alert his captor to our plans, and he may...hurt Harry if he feels that we're getting too close.” Sirius was fairly certain Remus had meant to say _kill_ instead of hurt, and while he agreed with the sentiment, it was still difficult to hear.

“I know, Remus,” Sirius replied with a soft sigh as he shifted his gaze into the contents of his cup, and watched the dregs of the tea leaves swirl around the bottom. This new plan gave him hope, but with every day that passed, Sirius could feel his guilt increase. He was Harry's guardian, and for the last five years, he'd failed in bringing his godson home safe. “We can't give up now,” he said, his voice coming out more hoarsely than he had anticipated, “we're getting close, I just know it.”

Remus squeezed Sirius's hand again, but didn't answer.

The following morning, Sirius woke with only a twinge behind his eyes, and thanked the Gods above for the wonders of potionmaking. He sat up and shuffled off to ready himself for the day; Remus was still sound asleep, sprawled across the bed, looking entirely at peace. The sight made Sirius feel a warm, a quiet joy that had been in precious little supply over the last few years, and Sirius was loath to disturb him.

Though in the past Sirius had always been a late riser, in recent years his nightmares chased away any desire he had to sleep for longer than was necessary, and it was no longer unusual that he was the first one up. He slipped into his dressing gown silently, and padded quietly out of their bedroom. His footsteps stuttered to a stop quickly as he paused outside Harry's room, but Sirius moved away quickly before he could allow the ever-present grief to settle too securely in his heart. Keen to do something nice for his husband, he continued into the kitchen and went to the task of attempting to make breakfast.

Despite his best efforts to not wake Remus, the billowing black smoke and acrid smells of burnt food was enough to wake him up, and the cranky werewolf was far from impressed.

“How many times,” he said with uncharacteristic anger, “have I told you to _not_ try and cook?” Remus spent several minutes flicking his wand to dissipate the smoke and smell, before using a cleaning charm to rid his pans of the charcoal briquettes that at one time may have been food. “I swear, I have no idea how you managed to not die of starvation before I came along.”

“I'm sorry, Remus,” Sirius mumbled as he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment and looked anywhere but at his annoyed partner. “You've just been so patient with me these last few years...you've never trying to deter me from...from everything. I just wanted to, I don't know, do something for you in return.” He felt his face grow warm, but he couldn't place why he felt so much like a hormonal, embarrassed teenager at that moment. 

“Next time, try to do something that won't involve burning the building down,” Remus replied, and though it was clear that he was still irritated, Sirius could see the ghost of a smile upon his face when he chanced a glance up. “Sit,” Remus ordered, “I will cook.” 

Sirius obeyed.

He leant back in his seat and watched Remus go to work. He cracked eggs, fried bacon, and brewed tea.

Sirius loved watching Remus work in the kitchen. The normally reserved and almost meditative werewolf would allow himself to unwind when he cooked, and in focusing on the task before him, he seemed truly at peace. Sirius was no stranger to the often brutal treatment his bonded endured at the hands of many within the wizarding world, and even if it was only temporary, he loved the absolute peace that seemed to engulf Remus when he was in his kitchen.

“I'll keep that in mind,” Sirius replied with a small laugh, “how about some pearls?”

“Don't be an arse,” Remus replied with a small smirk, “pearls would never go with my complexion.” 

Sirius snorted, and they fell into comfortable silence. Remus levitated the prepared food over to the table, and they both helped themselves. They ate in comfortable silence; Sirius's gaze shifted to the empty chair at the end of the small table, and even after five years, it still felt wrong for it to be empty.

Sirius could still see phantoms of Harry through the years, sitting there eating third and fourth helpings, talking animatedly with his guardians, not a care in the world. Sirius's guilt resurfaced in full measure, and he forced his gaze away from the empty piece of furniture.

After about ten minutes, Remus spoke in a delicate but conversational tone, effectively breaking the silence. “I've been quite surprised by Draco's take on all this...mess.”

Sirius nodded a little in agreement to Remus's statement,“I assumed that once the contract had been nullified he would have scarpered, but instead he's been so...devoted to finding him,” he replied, and he couldn't help but smile a little; he had despised the little shit ever since the invocation all those years ago, but once he'd bothered to get to know the boy, he instead found a deeply sentimental and single-minded young man, who had put his every effort into finding Harry. In many ways, Draco's dedication had reminded him of himself.

“We have to find him,” Remus said with more force than he usually spoke. 

“We will,” Sirius replied, though his voice sounded more confident than he felt. They hadn't managed to find him in five years, what would change now? Sirius shook his head and dismissed the worry; they would find Harry—they _had_ to.

Though it was a Sunday, Remus left early to pick something up at his office and left Sirius alone in the flat. He found himself feeling almost lost; he was alone with his thoughts, and he had no one nearby to vent them to.

His mind went over the last few years as though they were pages in a book—he remembered Draco's continued insistence that Harry was alive, even after the Weasleys and Hermione Granger had admitted defeat three years earlier—and the subsequent skirmish that had erupted between Draco and Harry's two best friends. After that, Sirius was very reluctant to keep in contact with any of them.

Still lost in thought, Sirius wandered back into Harry's room, unable to stop himself, despite the grief that would come from such an action.

Every time that Sirius went into Harry's room, he felt as though his heart had been caught by a tendril of Devil's Snare. At the same time however, he could not turn away from the room.

Memories came to him, and Sirius remembered that timid little boy who had grown and flourished under their care. He cared and mourned for that bespectacled boy as though he was his own flesh and blood; after all this time, Harry had become as much Sirius's son as he had been James's.

The bed groaned slightly under Sirius's weight, and he pressed his fingers into the cold duvet, tracing the minute creases of the cloth with his fingertips. He looked up, his grief returning to him in full measure, and he looked at the night table, where a framed picture stood. He remembered the pride that swelled within him when he had first noticed it—himself, Remus, and a ten-year-old Harry, laughing and waving on the outskirts of Muggle Dublin.

The memory of that first holiday together filled Sirius with both nostalgic joy and bitter anguish. He picked up the frame, but his hands were trembling too much. It slipped between his fingers and clattered to the floor.

“Damn,” Sirius hissed, and was relieved when he saw that the glass had not broken. As he knelt to pick it back up, his eyes caught something beneath the bed, just barely out of view. Hesitant to invade Harry's privacy, but curious all the same, he reached out and picked up the thing. It took him a moment to realize that it was the journal he and Remus had given him as a welcome home present.

Sirius smiled sadly, and brushed the dust off the front of it with the sleeve of his robe. That day seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet he could remember it so clearly. The journal had been used more than Sirius had expected; the cover was careworn, the pages slightly warped, and the edges of the paper were yellowed slightly with age. Against his better judgment, but longing to hold on to a piece of the boy he had lost, Sirius unclasped the journal and looked inside.

There was no concealment charm upon it, which had surprised Sirius at first. He was uncertain whether Harry didn't feel the need to use one, or if it simply hadn't occurred to him to cast one. Sirius felt warm as he flipped the pages; nearly every sheet had been filled with Harry's rushed scrawl, inky finger and wrist prints obscured some of the words in the boy's haste.

 

_I'm scared,_ Harry wrote,  _this whole betrothal-arranged marriage thing is driving me mental. It almost feels like my whole life has been leading up to this point, and I have no idea what comes after. Sirius and I are constantly at each other's throats and Remus just sits there like a bloody Quidditch referee or something. I'm not actually that angry with them, but I'm no good at venting, and so it comes out as barbs at Sirius's nagging. If we don't find a common ground soon, we'll probably kill each other._

  
Sirius chuckled as he flipped the pages slowly, sometimes stopping to read a little of his godson's thoughts before he moved on. However, one particular passage gave him pause.

  
_I sometimes wonder what my life at the Dursleys would have been like if I had been betrothed to a girl._

_Uncle Vernon made no attempts to hide his homophobia, and I still sometimes have nightmares about his rages, hating me for being abnormal—in his eyes, anyway—on so many levels. Wizard, Queer, Scrawny, etc. I'm not sure what was so bad about being scrawny, but he has no one but himself to blame for that one. Maybe if they'd fed me normal meals I would have grown properly. Thank God I don't have to go back there._

  
Sirius felt his inside twist with shame and anger. Not for the first time, he felt almost sick when he remembered how he had had to send that tearful, pleading boy back into the arms of his abusers. He often felt that no matter how much time passed, he would never be completely free of the guilt that he felt for putting Harry through that, and anger at himself for letting Dumbledore convince them to do it. He flicked through the pages again.

  
_Is sexual virginity really such a big deal in the wizarding world? I mean I know about the use of a virgin's saliva and blood in potions, but this constant hovering from the adults is making me insane. As if I'd be able to get away with normal teenage curiosity stuff anyway, that stupid contract thing would tell them all right away if me or Draco were doing anything naughty. And I know that it's not like that for everyone, I know of tons of kids from all-wizard families who've totally done it—or at least_ said _they've done it. Same difference. But even if Draco and I hate each other, I'm gonna have the best damn hate sex with him on our 'wedding night' or I might explode. I mean, Draco's an arse, but at least he's good-looking._

  
Sirius snorted as he pressed his hand to his face, deeply amused at Harry's na ï veté. At that moment, he heard a door slam and Remus's voice fill the silence. 

“Sirius?” he called.

“In here,” Sirius answered, and Remus stepped up to the open door, a worried look upon his face. He held a thick file under his arm, and his expression softened when he saw that Sirius was smiling. Without a word, he stood up and pressed the journal into his free hand. 

“Look,” Sirius said simply, and Remus hesitated for a long moment, then set the file aside and opened the journal. He flipped through the pages, his eyes widening with quiet amazement. 

“I had no idea that Harry would actually use it,” he murmured, perusing it in a similar way that Sirius had, pausing to read a passage or two, then moving on. 

“It's like he left a piece of himself here with us,” Sirius replied, his voice breaking ever so slightly, before he cleared his throat in an attempt to brush off the emotion. 

“This is a treasure,” Remus said as he pressed the book back into Sirius's hands, “we should find a safe place for it.” He paused while Sirius folded his arms over it and clutched it to his chest. Sirius watched as Remus's expression fell slightly into one he knew too well. He picked up the file and tucked it under his arm as he said, “I have some bad news.”

“Is there ever good news these days?” Sirius grumbled, as he followed Remus out of the bedroom and into the sitting room. Sirius summoned a bottle of firewhisky, while Remus set aside the file carelessly, and started a fire in the grate. Sirius set down the journal on the table and poured a good measure of the liquor into two glasses, then handed one to Remus. He took a fortifying sip before he refocused his gaze on Sirius. 

“It's not particularly earth-shattering, but I received an owl from Draco today, and his father is dragging him out to some sort of kill-things-and-drink-overpriced-scotch sort of thing. Draco swears he tried to get out of it, but his father insisted. You know how Draco is, he hero-worships the man. It would be very difficult for him to refuse.”

“So based on your vague description, they're going deer hunting?” Sirius asked with a chuckle as he sipped the drink, “I have a hard time picturing Lucius doing anything that messy with his bare hands.”

“That's what I gathered,” Remus replied, with a small nod. Sirius was disappointed by the setback, but strangely, he did not feel particularly upset by it.

“I suppose we'll do what we can to experiment with this Animagus instinct thing until he gets back,” Sirius said simply, then drained his glass.

Remus smiled warmly, clearly relieved by Sirius's calm reaction.

“Yes,” he replied, “I think that that would be best.”


	3. Prayer to Cernunnos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Phyllobates Terribilis means Yellow Poison Dart Frog, which is the species of dart frog with the most potent poison, according to my little book. The deer hunting mechanics may be a little off, I didn't have a lot of reference material handy. If there's any major errors, feel free to point them out to me.

Chapter 3 – Prayer to Cernunnos

  
“Oh, Harry, you know this hurts me more than it hurts you,” Snape purred as he stroked the soft down of Harry's neck.

Harry snorted and stamped the ground angrily, rearing his head and swinging his antlers threateningly, though he did not dare attack. The bright midday sun shone overhead, and Harry felt frustrated, angry, terrified...any negative feeling a Dementor brought out in him, Snape had the same the same effect—though Harry would never let him see that fear. Snape rarely visited him in the day, and his presence made Harry feel even more disoriented and nervous than usual.

Snape ignored the reaction and approached Harry again, patting his maw in the same way that one might attempt to tame a wild horse.

“I've been so _very_ patient with you, haven't I?” Snape asked, and Harry snorted as he skittered back out of his reach again. Harry held his head high as though to say, 'I'm not scared of you,' though his hooves still pawed the ground nervously; he was prepared to jump back again if Snape dared close the distance between them. Snape's false gentle tone fizzled out as his expression shifted into a scowl.

“You should be thanking me on bended knee,” Snape snarled, his voice jumping to something short of a yell, “but instead you still refuse to accept my request.” He bared his teeth at Harry in his frustration, “make no mistake, Potter. I _will_ have you. Everyone has a breaking point; _everyone_. I will see you this evening.”

Snape stalked away angrily, his robes billowing around him as he went, thus completing his long-practiced overgrown bat look, and disappeared into the shadow of the trees.

Harry cantered forward, using his keener-than-usual eyesight to ensure that Snape was gone, then allowed himself to fold into a lying position in the meadow. He twisted his long neck to curl up, conserving the bodily warmth that now never reached his heart.

Harry did not sleep, but he watched the comings and goings of the forest around him in miserable silence. He couldn't exactly communicate with the fauna of the wood in the traditional way, but he could sense intent and emotion from the creatures around him, rather than actual words. Harry supposed that this had something to do with his innate magic—even after being without a wand for five years, something drew them to him. Some animals would come over, mildly interested, then scamper off if they saw Harry move, while others, predominantly other deer, would lie with him, as though trying to offer him comfort.

While he was used to the human-animal relationship he had had with Hedwig, this felt different. It was almost more intimate—though never in a sexual way.

Today was no exception, and he watched as a light brown, almost grey snake with black checker-like spots along its form wind its way towards him. While Harry could not speak parseltongue while in this form, the appearance of the creature made him feel like laughing. It felt as though the reptile was a representation of how almost-Slytherin he once was. Its tongue flicked in and out of its mouth, tasting the air, and after a few minutes it periscoped, and regarded him oddly, as though to say, ' _I know what you are,'_ before it lowered itself back down to the ground and slithered back into the trees.

Harry stood and arched his back, his head tilting so far backward that he could feel the very tips of his antlers bite into his flesh—a sensation he had never fully grown accustomed to. He walked leisurely around the edge of the meadow, bowing his head to graze, while he listened intently to every sound around him, hoping he would be able to hear Snape before he showed his face, should he decide to visit again before moonrise.

 

~*~

 

“But, Father, I don't even _like_ venison,” Draco complained, his brow knitting in frustration as he slung his overnight bag over his shoulder and stood before the grand Malfoy fireplace with Lucius.

“Nonsense, you've had venison dozens of times,” Lucius replied curtly, as he clucked his tongue with impatience. “Besides, Draco, this isn't a hunt for meat—it's a trophy hunt. There are supposed to be some excellent bucks at this time, and I would not mind another head for the game room.”

“Sadistic bastard,” Draco muttered under his breath, and yelped in surprise more than pain when his father swatted the back of his head.

“Gnaw your cheek, boy. Now come along, we shall spend the night at our destination, then proceed to the wood tomorrow,” Lucius said, his tone leaving no room for arguments as he gave Narcissa a kiss goodbye, and she gripped Draco's upper arm gently, a small smile on her face.

Draco could see the relief in her eyes, and he knew what the look meant all too well. The assumption that he had finally given up on trying to find Harry Potter. The expression infuriated him, though at the same time, he felt slightly relieved. At least their suppositions kept them from trying to make him feel guilty about his frequent visits to Remus and Sirius.

Lucius threw the glittering Floo powder into the grate as he called out, “ _Horn Cottage!_ ”

The older man disappeared in a whirl of green flame, and Draco grudgingly stepped in after him, muttering the same words before he too was whisked away.

The word 'cottage' meant a very different thing to a Malfoy compared to the average witch or wizard.

Whereas most would picture a cottage as a tiny wooden structure, maybe three or four rooms at most, Horn Cottage, in contrast, was a splendid villa that sat atop a sheer cliffside, overlooking a wide expanse of dense forest. It had three floors, with a few house elves in residence year-round despite the fact that it was rarely used. It was bedecked with wizarding game hunting equipment, including disillusionment brooms, bows with quivers of arrows, bottles and vials of fast-acting poisons that would not ruin the meat, and several hunting knives—for those who preferred getting their hands dirty.

In the parlour, the two Malfoys tumbled out of the hearth, Draco effectively bowling his father over from his too-fast departure from the flames. Lucius shot him a nasty look, but instead of berating the boy, he simply huffed, flicked his wand, and magicked away the ash.

They had barely gotten to their feet when two excited, tittering house elves appeared with a sharp _crack_ and bowed very low before them.

“Masters Malfoy and Malfoy,” said the first elf squeakily, “it has been many months, yes, but we has beds ready for you, and if you is requiring tea, it is ready whenever you is wanting it. We is prepared everything as you asks, Master Malfoy!” Draco cringed a little, their high voices grating on him like nails on a chalkboard.

“Tea would be lovely, Cringle,” Lucius said to the first elf with much more kindness in his voice than he had ever bestowed the last elf in their employ. The two elves all but squealed with delight as they disappeared, reappearing an instant later with a large platter adorned with a hideously floral teapot and cups, along with sandwiches and cakes.

Draco sat down awkwardly in one of the overstuffed chairs, while he watched his father flick his wand, and their bags disappeared with a small _pop_. He sat down next to his son, and Draco busied himself with preparing the tea. He handed the first cup to his father, then served himself.

Though the outward appearance was one of a father and son enjoying a light meal in companionable silence, Draco felt the tension between them, so thick that it was as though the room had been filled with a dense fog. He moved stiffly, alternating small sips of his tea and minute bites of food; he could almost not tell what it was, everything tasted like ash in his mouth. Draco felt almost consumed by his nervousness, which was a feeling he was unused to experiencing, and thus had no idea how to reign it in. The awkward silence stretched on for several minutes before Draco felt as though he could no longer bear it, and he took a stab in the dark.

“Father,” Draco began, and waited for Lucius to refocus his attention on his son before he continued. “Why did you bring me here, really? Did mother put you up to it?” He asked with a frown; she had made no secret of her desire to marry Draco off, though his father never spoke of it one way or the other. Following his question, Lucius regarded him with a silent, calculating look. Draco swallowed, but remained sitting straight in his chair, maintaining the calm, conversational air he had projected earlier, refusing to let his father see how nervous he was to hear the answer.

“Draco,” he began with his familiar slow drawl, “I do not deny that I agree with your mother. You need to settle down, and it is high time that you found a partner.” He help up a hand when Draco opened his mouth furiously, effectively silencing him. “However, I also saw how much you cared for Mr Potter. The contract nullified the same night he was taken, and yet your unwavering faith that he still lives is...endearing, if misguided.” His mouth twitched slightly in the corners, while Draco struggled to maintain some sense of composure as he worked through his surprise. He could not recall the last time Lucius had spoken to him with such near-emotion.

“I believe you need closure upon this matter before you will be ready to move forward,” Lucius continued, “I brought you out here because it may help clear your mind and refocus your energies. I am not saying you must admit that the boy is lost to you, but, if anything else, it will relieve you of your mother's nagging for a few days.” This time, Lucius did chortle, and Draco managed a small smile.

It felt as though all the air had gone out of the room. It was very strange for Draco to hear his father speak like this, to agree yet disagree, while taking someone else's feelings into consideration. Lucius was a practical man, and always had been. He cared deeply for his family, but he had never been one for grand gestures of love and friendship. It made Draco's throat feel uncomfortably tight and it took several minutes for him to regain his composure enough to murmur, “thank you, Father,” without his voice cracking.

Draco and Lucius passed the remainder of the day in peace and quiet. Lucius spent a good portion of the afternoon cataloguing the hunting equipment or drinking scotch while he stared into the fire in an almost meditative state. Draco slipped outside and explored the expansive grounds, though the sight of the dense forest reminded him of Remus and Sirius, and it made his heart clench with guilt.

By early evening, he turned back towards the house to take dinner with his father, though had he been watching the more sparse forest to the west, he may have seen a familiar figure darting through the trees dressed in billowing, voluminous robes.

 

~*~

 

Harry trembled as the change took him. It didn't hurt exactly, though sometimes he wondered if that was because after so long plagued by Snape's curse, he had grown used to it. He was engulfed in white moonlight, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature outside grasped at his heart, his bones crunched and reformed, his fur changed to thin robes, his skin shone with sweat, and his legs gave out beneath him. He lay trembling in the centre of the meadow, and he felt his entire body tense as he heard the all-too-familiar swish of robes and rustle of the nearby flora.

Harry turned his head, and narrowed his eyes with disgust as Snape swept towards him. Harry tried to stand, to get away, but he stumbled back weakly and did not get very far. His jailer caught him deftly, and Harry took no time tugging himself out of the man's grasp, regardless of how weak he felt.

“ _Don't touch me_ ,” Harry snarled as he shook with anger and disgust.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Snape purred in that low, almost amused tone that made Harry want to crawl out of his skin and flee, “why must we do this every night?” He stepped forward and closed a hand over the young man's narrow hip. Harry lifted a hand to shove Snape away; the older man's thin lips twitched into a smirk as he wrapped his opposite hand around Harry's wrist, and squeezed just enough to elicit a gasp of pain from him. “I can give you so much more than Mr Malfoy ever could,” he murmured as he slid his hand from Harry's hip, and up his side, and gently cradles his jaw in his hand. “I have been in the world for much longer,” he continued as Harry tensed, but the sharp squeeze upon his wrist warned him not to move, though he visibly shuddered as his ex-Potions Master moved the hand from his hip to brush his fringe out of his eyes, “I can give you everything you've ever wanted.”

“You can't give me everything I want,” Harry replied in an even tone that did not betray his fear or disgust, though he was certain that Snape could probably still sense it.

“Oh?” Snape responded with a quirked brow, “and what is it that you want?” He moved closer, and Harry's attempts to step back were met with another sharp squeeze to his wrist, this time hard enough for Harry to momentarily lose control of his composure and he gasped softly in pain.

“ _Draco,_ ” Harry snarled with a glare, emerald meeting onyx, and he felt a great sense of accomplishment as Snape growled furiously before he threw Harry bodily away from him. Harry stumbled back several steps, but managed to keep from falling. His chest rose and fell in harsh breaths, his stony visage of bravery beginning to crumble as his fear took hold.

“I will ensure that you never have him, Potter,” Snape hissed, “you _will_ be mine.” Each word dripped with venomous promise, but Harry resolutely glared back and refused to show his fear to his tormentor.

“You would not have me even if you waited a hundred years,” Harry replied at once, “I'd sooner die than bond with the likes of _you_.” Harry spat his words with equal venom. Snape let out a frustrated sound, somewhere between a yell and another growl. He swept forward so suddenly that despite Harry's alarmed backtrack, Snape caught him. He coiled an arm around Harry's waist, and he cradled his chin in his hand.

Harry's breath caught, eyes wide and fearful. Snape did not allow him the time to wrap his mind around what was happening, and caught his lips in a rough kiss. It lasted only a moment, and he moved his mouth to hover mere millimetres from the boy's ear.

“Then you will die.”

He did not need to shove the boy, use a curse, or hex him. His own mind was caged by despair, and he crumpled to the ground the moment that Snape let him go. With a satisfied smirk, Snape Disapparated.

Harry sat in the meadow, feet planted firmly against the ground, his knees bent at a ninety-degree angle, and his arms were coiled tightly around his thighs. He clutched at himself, shaking both with fear and anguish. He was uncertain whether or not Snape would make good on his promise, though more than anything at that moment, he felt as though something in his mind had broken.

Pain gave way to rage—rage at himself for allowing this to happen, rage at Snape for keeping him trapped here like an animal, caged by psychological torture and Dark Magic. But mostly, he was enraged that he had allowed himself to become a victim.

Harry stood up suddenly, rolled his shoulders, and looked towards the dark wood that encircled his meadow.

He may no longer be able to Apparate, but he sure as hell knew how to walk.

The wood stirred around him. Something had changed, and it seemed as though its inhabitants could feel it. Harry's magic seemed to be almost a tangible thing, encasing him with a feeling of hope he had not experienced since his early days trapped in the meadow. He took a steadying breath, and slipped into the trees.

 

Without a wand or natural light, it was slow going.

 

Harry felt his way along, his hands brushing over the bark of the trees, the rough stone of boulders, padding carefully through tangled roots and up small inclines. He had no idea what he might be able to accomplish, feeling his way through the dark wood without any idea where he was actually going, and he wondered if he could find help the help he so desperately needed before dawn.

Though he felt fear—both for what Snape might do when he finds him gone, and worry about what he might run into in the dark—he did not feel alone. The animals of the forest joined him at times, young bucks and does primarily, foregoing sleep to guide him carefully through the more treacherous areas of the forest, steering him clear of Acromantula nests and out of the way of the deeply territorial Hippogriff flocks.

Harry had no idea how far he had gone, though it felt as though it could have been at least a a couple of miles. He felt his heart clench as the fawn and doe that were accompanying him nudged him over a ridge, where the forest had begun to thin, but did not end. The thing that made his heart ache however was not the seemingly never-ending greenery, but instead the source of his anguish came from above.

The sky had changed from inky black to deep indigo, and Harry knew that sunrise would not be far off.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, refusing to give in to panic so easily, and Harry turned to the doe at his side. It did nothing but blink its large, lashed eyes at him, then bowed her head forward and nudged him gently. He did not need to speak animal languages to know that it was her way of urging him onward. Harry reached out and brushed his fingers over the side of her neck, then descended the small hill.

Around him, the forest looked significantly different than where he had been mere hours before. It had been deep and dark near his meadow, but out here there was a gap of nearly ten feet between each tree, and the ground was mostly flat, covered with a thin layer of leaf litter and acorns. The doe and her fawn had turned back, reaching the edge of their own territory, and Harry forced himself to press on while he did his best to ignore the slowly brightening sky above him.

Harry was only able to quell his panic over the brightening sky above him for so long, and when indigo gave way to soft oranges and pinks he broke into a run, using the relatively flat expanse to cover as much ground as he could. Even so, the change took him before he got very far.

 

~*~

 

“Draco, would you like a vial of Phyllobates Terribilis Extract?” Lucius asked as he held up the tiny glass container, which contained a thick yellow liquid. Draco looked up from his quiver and bow, but shook his head with the faintest trace of a smirk.

“I feel it is more honourable to down a creature without the help of toxins,” Draco replied smoothly, and Lucius chortled at his response as he slid the vial into his own pocket.

“You have clearly been spending too much time with the wolf and his pup,” he remarked, “that statement had an unsettling Gryffindor ring to it.” Lucius did not sound disapproving to Draco's ears, and he turned to face his father, but the older man's expression did not give away any hint of whether he genuinely disapproved or not.

“Hunting requires skill and patience,” Draco drawled, trying to regain his composure after his father's out of character reaction, “downing an animal with poison makes it too easy.” Draco could have sworn Lucius had almost laughed at his statement _._ Draco shook himself as he shouldered the quiver while he gripped the polished wood of the bow in his opposite hand.

The pair were not dressed in their usual robes, but instead they had donned traditional wizarding hunting garb. Snug trousers, boots made of supple leather that would not hinder their movements should they need to descend to the ground and give chase, and a close-fitting white shirt. The sleeves of the garment stopped halfway down the forearm, and one black archer's glove completed the ensemble. Draco reached for one of the disillusionment brooms, and he felt the cool tingle of the magic spreading over him the moment that he touched it. Without a word, Lucius mirrored his soon as he took another broom, and they headed out.

The pair had risen much later than they had intended, and it was already well past midday. It was warm and breezy out, with the faintest puffs of white cloud dotting the blue sky. Turning to his father, Draco could already see the charm doing its work, and his father was almost indistinguishable from his surroundings. Draco mounted his own broom, and he looked down to see his hands and the broom melt into the cliffside.

“I think I'll head west, Father,” Draco said as he tucked his bow high onto his shoulder where he would have easy access to it.

“Stay alert, Draco,” Lucius said simply, “I will watch for red sparks, should you require assistance.” Draco nodded to the cold sentiment, and took off without a word.

Despite Draco's reluctance to come out here, thus effectively delaying his efforts to find Harry, he could not deny that his father had been right—at least partially.

The single-minded focus it required to hunt was calming, and Draco felt some his tension beginning to drain away. He flew down to the forest below, his toes barely skimming the treetops as he circled, looking for signs of the prey he sought. He had to readjust his grip upon the broom more than once, shifting to hike the bow back up onto his shoulder when it became dislodged and tumbled down to dangle from his wrist.

The forest was alive with activity. Birds flitted through the air and came to land on the branches below him, a vixen and her kits emerged from a den, and two chittering squirrels chased each other from tree to tree, but he saw no sign of his prey. Draco moved on, his eyes roving over the land below him with his keen Seeker eyes.

He had not gone far before he looked down and hissed in shock. He could see himself, then not. He flickered in and out of focus like a sputtering candle, before the Disillusionment Charm faded completely.

Despite his sudden appearance, none of the nearby creatures reacted to him, and did not even have the good sense to flee when he approached. Though the familiarity these creatures had to humans was slightly unnerving, Draco realized that it would make his hunt almost _too_ easy.

 

~*~

 

Harry had resisted the urge to break into a run as he stepped wearily through the sparse trees. He had been keeping a close eye upon the progression of the sun in the sky, trying to determine when he would need to get back to the meadow if he was unable to find a way out of the wood. After Snape's visit, he would try again that night by heading in another direction.

He stopped several times to graze. Though Harry's human form balked at the idea of eating grass, flowers, and other forms of vegetation like this, in his animal form it felt natural. The brief stops were enough to keep up his strength as he pressed on, using the approximate position of the sun to head east.

Though his adventure was taking him to parts of the forest he had never seen, Harry could not deny that it was fairly dull. He picked up his pace to a trot more than once to alleviate some of his boredom, but the reprieve lasted only for a few moments, and he slowed back to a walk. Harry desperately wanted to lie down and rest. He was exhausted, but he could not bring himself to stop. Not yet.

The forest changed again, the trees were growing more closely together, and a babbling brook appeared amidst the towering rowans. Harry bent to drink, and the cool water refreshed him enough to press on without much internal complaint. He picked his way over rotted tree trunks and through passes of moss-covered boulders, when he was joined by another deer, a young buck that was several hands shorter than Harry was.

Harry regarded it with confusion for several moments. It was stamping the ground and grunting in a way that could be either fear or excitement—it was difficult for him to tell. Harry took a few tentative steps back, worrying that he may have unwittingly wandered into the creature's territory, and the creature immediately butted him sharply with his small antlers, clearly trying to push him back the way he had come. Harry reared slightly in surprise, but before he could fathom more than a passing curiosity to the animal's behaviour, an arrow shot past them. Harry felt, rather than heard his animalistic cry of his shock, fear, and pain as the arrow grazed his hindquarters.

The arrow landed with a sharp _thunk_ in the ground several feet from where the pair stood. Harry looked up in the direction from where the arrow had come, and his heart stopped.

 

Draco.

 

~*~

 

Draco couldn't believe his luck. The little buck he had been giving chase to had led him to a real prize. His first arrow had missed, barely, but knowing these dimwitted creatures, his little graze would send the creature into a blind panic. He drew another arrow and took aim, but the stag reared fearfully and bolted. Draco pinned the broom between his knees and held his bow steady as he followed the animal's progression further west, leaping with alarming speed over logs and under low-hanging branches. After wasting two more arrows—they sunk uselessly into tree trunks or glanced off overlarge stones—he resisted the urge to reach for another. Clearly, this creature was more intelligent than the average beast.

Draco slowed, and eased onto the high branch of a larch, it thick enough that the limb barely quivered under his weight. The stag that he had been giving chase to slowed down, and even from so high he could see the beast's chest cavity heaving in fear as it attempted to catch its breath. The graze upon the hindquarter was bleeding slightly, but it was nowhere near a critical injury. Draco crouched low while he gripped the tree trunk, his broom, and the branch all at once. He carefully moved to a lower place on the tree, and though his movement visibly rustled the tree's foliage when he put his weight on it, though the animal did not seem to notice.

He drew another arrow, took careful aim, but as the arrow released, the creature moved and the flying fatality sunk harmlessly into the earth at its feet. The animal grunted a fearful cry and took off again.

Draco quickly mounted his broom and sped off after it.

 

~*~

 

Run.

Harry couldn't think.

Joy jumbled up with blind fear and his survival instincts, and it consumed his mind so completely that he could barely think straight. Harry could no longer untangle what was his human instinct and the flight instinct of his deer mind; all he knew was that Draco was here, and he was trying to kill him. The blind fear left little room for him to feel betrayed.

Harry hated his large, bulky body—it was such a mirror opposite of his small and skinny human frame, and he couldn't crouch and hide from the hunter, he could only run. Trees, shrubs, and the ground blurred past him in his haste, and Harry wondered if his legs would hold out long enough for him to get back to the meadow before he felt the sting of a fatal arrow.

He wanted to stop to see if Draco was still giving chase, and his body was all but screaming at him to stop and rest. However, each time the urge arose and his pace slowed even one iota, he heard the whistle of another arrow just miss him, and Draco's hiss of a curse. Harry would let out another cry, take off again, and in the haze of his fear, Harry did not fail to notice two things: First, the sky was beginning to darken, and second: they were rapidly approaching his meadow.

 

~*~

 

Draco had half a mind to give up and just let the bloody animal go. But with only two arrows left, he felt like it would be a waste to go after another animal at full strength, and this one _had_ to tire out eventually, right?

What was especially strange to him however was the animal's behaviour. Yes, it acted as any freaked out deer would as it pelted away from him, but he could not shake the feeling that it was leading him somewhere. Draco was certain he had seen the beast turn back more than once to ensure that he was still there.

Full dark was falling around him, and he had been forced to abandon his broom and continue on foot as the trees became too thick to weave through. He continued to track the animal, but both he and it were moving much more slowly, and still it would pause for the barest second to ensure that he was still following it.

Suddenly, it came to a full halt just before some sort of clearing. It looked back at Draco, blinking its eyes slowly, and Draco shot off an arrow. It stepped out of the way of the projectile, and Draco growled in frustration. The animal turned from him and walked slowly into the clearing.

Draco ran to the edge of the clearing—a perfectly circular meadow of some kind—and drew his last arrow. The animal was still walking through the meadow slowly, almost leisurely. Draco was exhausted, but determined to get the damn thing. He threaded the arrow into the bow, lifted it, and took careful aim.

The creature stopped in the exact centre of the meadow, and stopped. It turned and stared at Draco, and there was something almost human about the look that the creature regarded him with, and that white zigzag of fur upon the creature's forehead...why did seeing it make him want to drop his weapon?

The stag reared suddenly, and Draco gasped in shock, the bow tumbling from his hands as the creature was enveloped in a brilliant, white light.

Draco threw up his arms to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness, but when it faded and he turned to look for the stag, it was nowhere to be found, and in its place stood a young man that he recognized immediately.

“Hello, Draco,” said Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So this chapter may have fallen into the realm of predictable, but oh well.


	4. Stay Where I Can See You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had to add another chapter to this story because reasons, so now it'll be 14 chapters instead of 13. So, there's that.

Chapter 4 – Stay Where I Can See You

 

Draco looked on as silence stretched between them.

Harry looked terrible; he was pale and tembling, and even in the dark Draco could see Harry's collarbone jutting out under taut skin. His robes clung to his thigh, indicating where the graze from his arrow was, but the robes themselves were faded and tattered, and hung loosely on his frame.

Draco was caught between horror and disbelief. He had nearly—albeit unwittingly—killed Harry, and could not believe that he had _found_ him.

He had a lot of ' _I told you so_ 's to dish out once he got home.

Draco took a tentative step forward, his mouth open slightly, but Harry threw up his hand, indicating for him to stop. He pressed a finger to his lips, and made a motion for Draco to conceal himself.

Confused, but understanding that Harry was not messing around, Draco reigned in his desire to run at him, and instead slipped behind a tree.

The moment he had disappeared from view, Draco heard the swish of someone in heavy robes crossing into the meadow from the other side.

“Did you have fun today?” an oil-slick voice asked, and Harry didn't answer. However, something about that low purr of a voice sounded very familiar to Draco, though at the moment, he could not place it.

“Oh, Harry,” the voice said again, taking on a tone of false concern, “what happened here?” Draco heard Harry gasp sharply with pain. He tensed, and resisted the urge to go to Harry.

“H-hunter,” Harry replied softly, and the weakened, broken tone made Draco's heart ache. “I escaped; came back here.”

“See what a dangerous place the world is? You _need_ me, Harry. _Coalesca.”_ Harry gasped again following the softly murmured incantation, though Draco could not tell whether it was a gasp of shock or pain. “There,” the voice said, |that must feel so much better.”

The voice maintained that same silky smooth tone as it spoke, and he heard Harry gasp again, though this time from fear.

Draco couldn't help himself, and he peered around the thick trunk of the tree to see what was happening. In that moment, it took every ounce of willpower that he possessed to keep from running out.

Severus Snape held Harry in a loving embrace. One of his arms was coiled around Harry's waist, and the opposite hand was cradling his cheek, though the touch did not look gentle. Snape was pressed bodily up against the young man, and Draco could see Harry struggling against him. Unfortunately after overexerting himself that day, Harry hadn't the strength to get away form him. Draco felt a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach—if only he'd figured it out sooner.

“Come now, Harry,” Snape purred as he leaned in and kissed the struggling young man. The action filled Draco with a near-blinding rage, but he held his ground as he dug his fingers into the bark of the tree. When Snape pulled back from the kiss, Harry was regarding the man with a look of deepest loathing.

“Bond with me,” Snape murmured, as though he did not notice the expression upon Harry's face, “your young lover will _never_ come for you.” He smirked and moved his hand, and though from Draco's vantage point he could not see what he was doing, the alarmed yelp told him all he needed to know. Harry wrenched himself out of Snape's embrace with a burst of newfound strength, his face very pink, though Draco was uncertain whether it was from shame or exhaustion.

“You know _nothing_ , Snape,” Harry snarled as is breath came out in short, harsh gasps, while Snape, in turn, seemed completely unaffected by the words. His mouth quirked into a small smirk as he strode to Harry, grasped his jaw in his hand, and stared down at him intently.

“I know a great deal, Harry. You will bond with me, it is only a matter of time. And your time, as it is, is running out.”

What he meant by this Draco had no idea, and by Harry's confused expression, neither did he. Snape leant in to kiss him again, and laughed at Harry's feeble efforts to escape, before he finally let him go. Harry stumbled back and barely caught himself with his arms as he tumbled to the ground, and he shot a glare at Snape. The older man watched his captive for a moment longer, then turned with a flourish of his dark robes and strode from the meadow.

The moment he had gone, Draco lurched forward, but Harry held his hand up again to stall him.

It could not have been more than a minute, but to Draco it felt closer to a lifetime. At long last, Harry finally lowered his arm, and he turned towards Draco with a dazzling smile.

Despite Harry's obvious exhaustion, he ran at Draco, the wide smile never leaving his face. At the same moment Draco had also broken into a run, and then the met, they all but crashed into each other's arms.

Harry clung to him, his arms wrapped tightly around Draco's neck, his own arms hooked around Harry's waist as he held onto him tightly. They kissed, and for the first time in five years, Draco felt as though he had been reassembled.

Harry was crying openly, and Draco could feel the burn of tears in the corners of his own eyes as they clung to one another.

“I knew you were alive,” Draco whispered against Harry's mouth, “I _knew_ it.” He clutched more tightly to Harry, though never enough for it to be painful.

“I knew you would never stop looking,” Harry replied; he reached out to caress Draco's cheek, and brushed away the wetness that had collected there. Draco leaned into the gentle touch with a contented sigh and small smile.

He'd missed this; Morrigan above, how he'd missed this.

“He's gone now,” Draco murmured, “come on, I'll take you home.” At these words, Harry's face fell. He moved back from Draco a little as he roughly rubbed the tear tracks from his own cheeks.

“I—I can't,” Harry murmured, his tone dripping with remorse at his own words, “I want to, believe me, I do, but he—I can't leave.” Harry's voice trembled, but he was no longer crying. The sight made Draco slightly sick. He could not remember ever seeing Harry so defeated, so _damaged_. “Snape, he...he has me under a curse. This whole forest has similar enchantments to Hogwarts, too...but just on me. I can't Apparate.”

Draco listened as Harry's voice broke, and as he spoke, Draco trailed the fingertips of his right hand up and down Harry's back in an attempt to soothe him. In spite of his efforts, Harry did not look consoled.

“Side-Along Apparition, then,” Draco replied, then leant in to punctuate his statement with a kiss, “I can't lose you again.”

“Draco,” Harry murmured, his voice cracking a little, “I _can't_. This curse...I'm trapped here. I don't know what to do.”

Draco could feel his heart breaking for Harry—he did not sound overwhelmed with anguish at his situation, but instead he sounded hollow, as though he had given up ever leaving this place a long time ago. The mere sight of his surrender enraged Draco; how could Snape have done something like this?

“What is this curse?” Draco asked, “I'm assuming that you didn't suddenly become a part-time Animagus.” Harry cracked a small smile at the comment, but he didn't laugh.

“ _Anima Speculo Maledictum,”_ Harry answered at once, “Soul-Mirror Curse.” He closed his eyes, as though trying to gather his thoughts, Draco used the opportunity to guide Harry to a nook in the trees, where he sat down with him.

Draco pressed his back against the bark, and coaxed Harry down to sit between his legs; he was so skinny—much smaller than he had been five years ago—that he fit there easily. Harry leant back against his chest while Draco wrapped his arms around his waist. Harry rested his hands over Draco's, and they threaded their fingers together on reflex, rather than doing so with any real conscious thought. The small action made both young men tense, and Draco's mind flashing back briefly to That Night. By the look on Harry's face, Draco felt as though his thought might have also strayed back to that time.

“That night,” Harry began in a soft voice, “...he took me here and cast the spell just before dawn. When the sun came up, I turned into a stag. Snape never properly explained it to me, but the curse transfigures your body into something else in the light of the sun, and I become a stag, as you saw.

“The catch is, I could run all the way to Timbuktu, but no matter where I am, I will turn back into a stag at daybreak. But if I'm not in this meadow under the light of the moon, I won't regain my human form at dusk.” Harry's voice broke, and Draco pressed a kiss against the back of his neck. This seemed to fortify him as he continued, though he still sounded as though he was barely holding it together. “Every evening, Snape comes to me and asks me the same thing. I've been saying no consistently for the last five years, but now...I think he might be getting desperate. I don't know what's going to happen, I'm starting to wonder if he actually _will_ kill me.” Harry shivered a little, and turned to try and face Draco, which proved a little difficult in their position. Draco shifted to accommodate him, and Harry immediately turned around until they were face to face, and their legs tangled together as they settled into the more comfortable position.

Draco reached out a hand, and gently ran his thumb across Harry's cheek, before he gently cupped his chin. He pulled Harry in, being careful to use none of the brute force he had been subject to with his captor, and their lips came together.

Neither young man had any desire to rush, as they kissed and tasted each other, reacquainting themselves after so much time apart. When they broke the kiss, Harry pressed his face into the crook of Draco's neck.

“I missed you so much,” Harry murmured, and Draco held him fast.

“Me too,” Draco replied as he felt his throat tighten, but his last five years, feverishly searching for Harry, it had been nothing compared to what his brunet companion had gone through. Draco knew that he needed to be strong and help Harry through this trauma. He couldn't fall apart, not yet. “I never stopped looking. Sirius, Remus and I.” He smiled and Harry looked up at him, a mixture of shock and guilt on his face. “They _never_ gave up on you, Harry.”

He didn't feel that it would particularly tactful to mention that Weasley and Granger had stopped looking several years earlier, a memory in which still left a bad taste in his mouth. _Some friends._ In his time getting to know Harry's adoptive parents, he also learned a great deal about the object of his affections. In particular, how fragile his emotions sometimes were when it came to family ties. At the mention of his parents however, his eyes flooded with guilt.

“I hate that I did this to them,” Harry mumbled, and his voice shook as he struggled to keep it steady. It seemed as though he'd only just remembered his adoptive parents, and intermingled with the guilt was a horror-struck look in his eyes. “They must be so worried...”

“Harry,” Draco said as he grasped his chin, firmly, but gently, and forced Harry to meet his eyes. “You did _not_ do this to them. Snape did. Don't you dare blame yourself for this. You have done _nothing_ wrong.” Draco kissed him again, more gently this time. When he pulled back, he saw that Harry's expression was still consumed with guilt, but with Draco holding him in a lover's embrace, showing him in actions as well as words how much he had been missed, he nodded slowly, but Draco wasn't entirely certain that Harry believed what he was being told.

Draco spent the rest of the evening with Harry. They didn't speak very much, and instead they held each other, exchanged gentle, tender kisses, and whispered sentiments flitted between them of “ _I missed you_ ,” in various forms. At the same time, both of them kept an ear out for any sound that might indicate Snape returning to the meadow. Close to dawn, Draco reluctantly disentangled himself from Harry.

“I'll come back,” Draco murmured before he pressed a kiss first to Harry's lips, then a second one to his forehead. “I won't let you stay imprisoned here. We'll find a way, I swear.”

“I know,” Harry said quietly, holding tightly to Draco's hands, clearly reluctant to let go. “Snape usually comes in the evenings to...to talk to me, then I'm usually left alone. He sometimes comes during the day, but not often.” His voice was more even than it had been all night, and Draco hoped that his presence had had something to do with it. Harry looked skywards, and it was rapidly lightening. He kissed Draco once more, “please, go. I know I'll see you again.”

As Draco stepped back he felt as though he was abandoning half of himself in that single movement.

Harry smiled at him, a watery, mournful smile, but his joy at their reunion shone through. His breath hitched, and he fell to his knees. The same white light consumed him, and a second later Draco found himself facing the stag. Draco took an uncertain step forward, but Harry snorted and stamped his hooves into the ground. He tossed his head in an obvious signal. “ _Go._ ”

Before Draco could lose his nerve, he took a step back Disapparated.

 

~*~

 

Remus was in his office when a familiar eagle owl swooped in and dropped a small scroll of parchment over his report, effectively turning the last couple paragraphs into an illegible smudge. The way the owl perched upon his desk instead of immediately taking off told him that whatever Draco wanted, it was probably urgent.

He flicked his wand several times to rid the scroll of the ink stains and fix his report, then he pushed it aside as he unrolled the note.

  
_Remus,_

  
_I have some news. I need to speak to you as soon as possible, Father and I returned last night. Can I meet you at The Leaky Cauldron? Do_ _ not _ _bring Sirius. Send time by return owl._

  
_Draco_

 

Though he did send the owl back with a short note— _I'll meet you at six.—_ the strange request did give Remus pause. He was uncertain why Draco would ask him to come alone, but he could assume it had something to do with Sirius impulsive nature, and his Curse First, Ask Questions Later mentality.

Remus returned to his report, and his eyes flicked momentarily to the grandmother clock affixed to the wall. Six o'clock seemed very far away.

Draco was waiting for Remus when he arrived. He stepped out from the shadowed corner where he had Apparated to, and the blond's shoulders seemed to sag slightly with relief. Something told Remus that whatever had happened, it was big. Draco displayed his emotions nearly as readily as Harry used to, though he doubted the proud Slytherin would ever admit to it. Without a word, the pair slipped into the pub.

While Remus paid Tom for two glasses of mead, Draco selected a table far from the main hustle and bustle of the pub. Remus pushed the drink over to him and sat down.

“Now,” Remus prompted, “tell me what this is all about. I'm not exactly keen on keeping Sirius in the dark.”

Draco didn't speak straightaway, but looked away from Remus focused his attention on the drink before him. Remus recognized the gestures as Draco's way of gathering his thoughts, and he waited patiently for the young man to speak. He took a fortifying sip of his drink before he refocused his attention upon the older man.

“I found him, Remus.”

Remus nearly dropped the glass in his hand. His mouth dropped open, and he stared wide-eyed at the young man before him.

“ _What_?” Remus whispered, his eyes still bulging slightly, “why on earth would you not want Sirius to know?” Intermingled with his shock Remus felt a swell of joy and relief. While he would never have dared say anything to Draco or Sirius, doubts had begun to form in his mind as to whether their search was fruitless—he was overjoyed that he had been proven wrong.

“It's Snape,” Draco said in a rush, “Severus Snape.” Draco's eyes were wide and panicked, and Remus recognized the look of helplessness he saw in his expression. It was a look Sirius carried all too often these days. “He has Harry trapped under some sort of curse. He can't get out, and I thought it might be better that we approach this with a level head.” Draco looked away after he had finished speaking, and fingered the lip of the glass while he tried to compose himself.

Remus frowned, and tried to process what he had been told.

 

Severus Snape had Harry.

Harry was alive.

Harry was _cursed_.

  
The fragmented pieces of information refused to smooth into cohesive thought, and Remus still felt consumed by his jumbled emotions of joy, relief, and anger. The idea of keeping something so big from Sirius made him feel sick with guilt, but unfortunately, Draco had a point. It took Remus several minutes to find his voice again.

“Do you know whether or not killing Severus would break this curse?” he asked, and Draco's frown deepened.

“I don't know,” Draco replied as he looked back at him, and his expression of helplessness became more pronounced. “I looked briefly in my family's library, but I couldn't find anything about this curse.” Draco heaved a heavy sigh, and reached up to rake his fingers through his hair. “Snape is trying to force Harry to bond with him. He tried the same thing the night of—That Night.”

Remus felt as though his insides had turned to ice at that single admission.

“And you didn't think to tell us, or your parents what had happened?” Remus asked coolly, and he felt a slight flare of anger in his core. He wondered fleetingly if all of this could have been avoided if the boys had had the good sense to tell someone about the man's advances. Draco's expression shifted from anguished to guilty.

“It honestly didn't occur to us,” Draco replied, “I mean, Harry was a bit alarmed by his advances, I stepped in, Snape was furious with my intervention, and took off. I never thought he'd _kidnap_ Harry.”

Draco's gaze fell to the tabletop as he finished his explanation, and Remus felt a slight pang of remorse at his words. Of course, he should have known better than to assume that they could have seen this coming, no one could. At the same time, the memory resurfaced as Draco spoke—Severus requesting Harry to dance, Sirius wanting to intervene, then Draco stepping in not long after. In that moment, he hated himself for stopping Sirius. Perhaps if it had been Sirius instead of Draco, Severus would have been less inclined to go to such extremes.

“What is this curse Harry spoke about?” Remus asked, keen to get away from their dual guilt over all that had happened. At his words, Draco paused, his expression momentarily lost in memory. He twisted his mouth almost into a grimace, and took another sip of the mead before he spoke.

“ _Anima Speculo Maledictum._ Have you ever heard of it?”

“Soul Mirror,” Remus replied with a slight nod, “I've heard of it.” _Of course Severus had to go and use something like that,_ Remus thought bitterly. “It came into disuse in the seventeenth century, but I don't know a lot about it, I'll have to do some research.” He paused, and looked over the rim of his glass at Draco. “What form does Harry's Mirror, so to speak, take?”

“A stag,” Draco answered at once, and Remus almost laughed. Of course it would.

 

~*~

 

Despite Remus's reassurances that he would look into the curse for Draco, he could not help but feel anxious. He wanted this resolved _now,_ and the waiting was driving him mad. He was relieved that Remus had at least agreed to hold off on telling Sirius for now, at least until they knew more. Neither of them enjoyed keeping Sirius in the dark, but if their only chance of saving Harry died with Snape, then all would be lost.

Draco waited for a few hours after sunset before he returned to the meadow. He had appeared within the cover of the trees, and checked to make sure Snape was nowhere to be seen before he stepped out into the open. It felt a little strange to be hiding from his former Head of House, but even his old alliances would not cloud his judgment over what Snape had done to Harry— _his_ Harry.

The young man in question was lying down in the centre of the meadow, almost hidden amongst the wildflowers. Harry was stretched out on his back, his left arm folded under his head in a makeshift pillow and one leg stretched out straight, the other bent at the knee. He was watching the night sky, though from Draco's vantage point he could not tell if Harry's calm was genuine or feigned. Marks of another assault marred his skin, and Draco felt his stomach momentarily clench. There was an oval bruise below his eye, his robes even more rumpled than they had been the night before, and his eyes and lips slightly swollen and flushed.

Draco tried to step into the meadow quietly, but he still made enough noise for Harry to sit up sharply and whirl his head in Draco's direction. It amazed him how much Harry looked exactly like his animal counterpart at that moment. His posture softened when he saw who it was, and he stood up with a smile as Draco approached.

“I was worried that you weren't coming,” Harry said softly as their fingers threaded together.

“Now that I know where you are, how could I stay away?” Draco asked with an arched brow, and Harry actually laughed at this; it cheered Draco that even after years of being subject to unnameable torment, he was still able to feel some semblance of joy. Harry pulled his hands out of Draco's before he wrapped his arms tightly around his neck and pulled him in for a chaste kiss.

“You are so cheesy,” Harry murmured against his mouth.

“I like to think of myself as _ridiculously romantic,_ ” he replied, and Harry turned away as he snorted with laughter, and clapped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from spraying Draco with spit.

“Oh _very_ suave, Potter,” he murmured with a grin, while he wrapped his arms around Harry's waist in a gentle but possessive grip.

“Sorry, my etiquette instructor must have left 'don't laugh at your lover's corny jokes' out of the syllabus,” Harry replied sarcastically, and the second he said it, his face went rather red.

“Lover, eh?” Draco said, and he couldn't stop the smirk that crossed his features. “I like the sound of that.”

“I'll bet you do,” Harry answered with another laugh, and he grinned as he threaded his fingers through the hair on the back of Draco's head and pulled him in for another kiss.

 

The couple spent the night together, and Draco left reluctantly just before dawn, though he tried to draw out their departure as long as he could.

“I could come back later today, after we're sure Snape won't show up?” Draco asked hopefully; even if Harry was in another form, it was still Harry, wasn't it? But at his words, his lover went chalky white.

“Please don't,” Harry whispered, his voice so small, so childlike, that it tore at Draco's heart. “I—I don't like people seeing me like that, not really. And sometimes when Snape's in a really vindictive mood he comes and, well, doesn't hurt me, but uses his words.” Harry shivered, and Draco drew him into a close embrace. Seven years of having the man as his Head of House, Draco was all too familiar with the damage that that man's sharp tongue could do. He didn't say any more, but he kissed Harry gently, one last time, and departed.


	5. Secrets Don't Make Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter than I intended, but hopefully the next installment will make up for it :D

Chapter 5 – Secrets Don't Make Friends

  
Harry had a hard time wrapping his mind around the new turn his life had taken.

He had spent so long in varying states of terror, paired with the fear at what would come when day changed into night, or vice versa, it took Harry several days to acclimate himself to the new feeling of joy.

Every morning and every evening, Snape would come to him.

His questions and Harry's answers never changed, but the encounters had steadily become more forceful, and more violent. After being kept in such a state of near-malnutrition for so many years, he was too skinny and too weak to fight back—not that he didn't try, but after each encounter, he was left feeling so deeply ashamed at his own weakness that it was sometimes a trial to smile when Draco came to see him. He never told Draco what happened, and his companion always came late enough in the evenings that he was no longer a witness to the encounters, for which Harry was grateful.

With each visit, Draco brought news.

“We're still looking,” he said, “but most of Remus's sources have almost no record of this curse, except when it's mentioned in passing. We don't want to use the Hogwarts libraries, just in case Snape figures out what we're up to.” 

They had been sitting underneath a towering willow, Draco's back pressed against the trunk, and Harry in between his legs, his back pressed into his chest. It always unnerved him a little just how small he had become; Surely he had filled out more than this? The thought unsettled him more than he liked to admit, but at the same time, he liked the feeling of protection that washed over him when he sat with Draco like this.

“We're waiting on an answer from one of Remus's Russian contacts,” he continued, “we should hopefully hear back soon.” Draco pressed his chin into Harry's shoulder as he spoke, and coiled his arms around his waist.

“You'll find something, it's only a matter of time,” Harry replied confidently while his fingers traced the contours of Draco's fair hands, and he felt the blond shiver.

More difficult to hear was news of his friends and family. In the name of security, Draco had told no one that he had found Harry, save Remus, and Draco had reluctantly admitted to Harry that Ron and Hermione believed him to be dead. The news that his two best friends had given up on him was a heavy blow, regardless how delicately Draco had tried to phrase it, though the strange regret that Harry heard in his voice gave Harry the feeling that Draco may not be telling him everything.

“It's not like they stopped being your friend,” Draco said gently, while he pressed a light kiss to the side of Harry's neck, and he rubbed a hand slowly up and down his back. “Granger fancies herself a realist. She probably only went along with us to humour Weasley, as cold as it sounds. They still care for you, but they believe that you're dead.”

“Hermione was never one to hang on to fantasies,” Harry mumbled, while his head bowed forward a little, “it's just a little tough to hear.” Draco embraced him more tightly. 

“Soon we'll have this curse broken, and I'll be more than happy to tell them, 'I told you so',” Draco replied, and grinned when Harry laughed a little, then leant back into Draco's embrace. 

“I'm sure she'll _love_ that,” Harry said, then turned to kiss Draco again, his bony hand pressed against Draco's cheek. The sight of his own flesh made him feel almost queasy. What must he look like to Draco? All taut skin and protruding bone—a mere husk of his former self. Harry started a little when he felt Draco's hands at his waist, pulling him closer. His own self-consciousness muted a little, as he focused on the delicious sensation of being close to his lover again.

When they broke the kiss, Harry huffed a small, despondent sigh. He pressed his cheek into Draco's shoulder, and stared up at the crescent moon.

“I wish I could help somehow...” he mumbled, shivering a little when he felt Draco's fingers press lightly into his spine, tracing the vertebrae as Harry spoke.

“We're doing all we can,” Draco murmured while he moved to press a light kiss to the side of Harry's jaw, “and we _will_ break this curse.” 

As Harry sat there, words from his past seemed to flutter to the forefront of his mind, hitting him as suddenly as a brick to the face. ' _...out eldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank...'_

  
His mouth dropped open.

 

~*~

 

The Leaky Cauldron was quieter than usual.

Draco felt as though the cool, indifferent demeanour that he usually projected had been utterly shattered. He had sent Remus an owl that morning requesting he meet with him, but even though the man was far from being late, he couldn't help but worry.

Would this work? Would this Weasley even  _know_ about this curse? Was Draco wasting his time? 

The firewhisky did little to settle his jangling nerves.

At five past, Remus stepped into the pub. Draco motioned to Tom to bring him another round, and after Remus had settled down and Tom returned to his place behind the bar, Draco blurted out the story in a rush. Unfortunately, thinking before he spoke was not a common tack for him, and it came out painfully garbled.

“Harry—Weasley—Gringotts,” Draco said, and Remus gave him an extremely odd look. He felt a flush begin to creep up his neck, and he cleared his throat before he tried again, “Harry thinks we ought to contact Weasley, the Curse Breaker.”

“Bill, you mean?” Remus asked, and Draco nodded. While he still felt reluctant to ask the Weasleys for _anything_ , he was willing to dismiss old prejudices if this could possibly help Harry. 

“It's an idea,” Remus said after a moment of thoughtful silence. “You're aware, of course, that generally the kinds of curses Bill deals with are vastly different than Harry's...affliction?”

“I thought of that,” Draco replied, taking his time to think over his words before he spoke, “but even if he's never seen it, I'd assume he may have at least heard of it, given his vocation?”

“I'll draft a letter to him,” Remus held up a hand to stop Draco interrupting, “I'll be sure to tell him to _not_ tell his family, nor who has cast it. Hopefully we'll get an answer soon.”

A relieved smile spread over Draco's face, and he nodded.

 

~*~

  
Remus was up to something.

Sirius was generally not a paranoid bastard by nature; paranoia was usually a mindset that he left to Alastor Moody.

This time however, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being left out of something. His bonded was coming home late several times per week, looking both strained and content all at once. The recent passing of the full moon only added to the all-around dishevelled look, and for once Sirius didn't find it endearing, but instead troubling.

Sirius wanted to confront Remus, but he had no idea how to phrase it without it sounding like he was some suspicious spouse. In an effort to take his mind off things, he had taken to delving into the private ramblings of his godson more and more often. Though it often made him feel worse, it at least took his mind off his present troubles.

  
_I sometimes think about my Hogwarts years._

_They went by so fast that I sometimes wonder if they ever happened at all. It's like all of my fears about the summer after my seventh year made time go faster. The memories come back to me in a weird way. The bad ones are really clear, and it sometimes takes me a second to remember the good ones. Not that Hogwarts was bad, it was like a second home to me. But sometimes the bad completely eclipsed the good. Cedric dying, Wormtail and Crouch Jr trying to revive Voldemort, Dumbledore dying..._

_But then I remember good things too. Quidditch, Ron and Hermione, Remus teaching me the Patronus Charm, mad parties in the Gryffindor common room, tea with Hagrid(minus his rock cakes)...I can't think of anything else offhand._

_But I wish I had been smart enough to talk to McGonagall about the whole Snape thing. I still don't know if I was being paranoid or not, I thought he just hated me. But after sixth year, it always seemed like there was something else too, I mean, besides the hate. His hand would linger on mine, or he would stare at me in a way that made me want to crawl out of my skin_ , _I dunno. I never told my friends, how weird would it be to try and explain that on top of the whole I'm-Being-Married-Off-To-A-Malfoy thing?_

_All I know is that I'm glad that I don't have to see him again. I mean, I'm pretty sure I was being paranoid, but still. Whether or not I was imagining it—it was still creepy._

  
Sirius felt slightly sick. His mind flashed back to the night of the ball. He remembered one particular moment of Snape dancing with his godson, Remus threatening to hex him if he dared make a scene, then Draco breaking them apart, closely followed by the old greaseball saying something angrily at the couple before he swept out of the hall.

  
_Snape._

  
Sirius felt very proud of himself.

Instead of storming off to Hogwarts and beheading the Potions Master with a nice severing charm like he  _really_ wanted to, he bookmarked the page in Harry journal, downed half a bottle of muggle whisky, and sat in front of the fire, deep in thought. 

Waiting for Remus was exhausting, and against his better judgment, he finished off the rest of the liquor while he waited. In his drunken haze, made it halfway to the bedroom before he passed out.

  
_Ow._

  
Someone was standing over him, but it was more a sense than anything else, given that his head was pounding too much for him to properly open his eyes. Fingers pressed against his temples, Sirius slowly sat up.

“Did anyone catch that rampaging hippogriff?” he mumbled, and Remus chuckled as he pushed something small and made of glass into his hand. When he didn't respond right away, gentle, callused hands guided the vial to his mouth. 

Sirius obediently swallowed the vile liquid, gagging slightly as he did so, and the room slowly came into focus. Remus was standing over him, looking both amused and concerned in equal measure.

“Is there a particular reason why you felt the need to give yourself alcohol poisoning?” he asked, and though Remus spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper, the sound lanced through Sirius's head as though the man had been shouting. Sirius rubbed a hand over his eyes with a small groan.

“Journal, bookmark,” he said by way of explanation, “read it. I'll be back.” 

Sirius stood up and ambled to the kitchen to make himself a strong coffee while he waited for the hangover potion to work on the tail end of his pounding skull. He tapped the kettle with his wand, the water came to an instant boil, and he measured out the coffee granules with slow precision. He wasn't entirely certain why he was dragging his feet in making the beverage, though all intentions to confront Remus about his recent late nights had been chased from his mind by his latest discovery.

With his hands clasped tightly around the white 'I Heart Werewolves' mug that Harry had gifted him with several Christmases earlier, he stepped back into the sitting room with his head feeling a great deal clearer. Remus was staring down at the pages with a look of disgust on his face.

“What do you think, Remus?” Sirius asked, and Remus looked up as he eased down onto the sofa next to him. It was in this moment that Remus's expression registered in Sirius's mind.

 

Remus looked nervous.

 

Remus  _never_ looked nervous. 

 

After living with the man for nearly twenty years, it took him barely a split second of thought to realize the truth.

Sirius stood up too fast and his head spun, but his rage and sense of betrayal completely eclipsed everything else.

“You _knew_ ,” Sirius snarled, “you _knew_ Harry was alive. You _knew_ that it was Snape and you didn't tell me!” He spat every word like a curse. Remus stood up quickly and took a few steps forward.

“Sirius, please, it's not that simple—” Remus began as he reached out to grab his hand, and Sirius lurched away as though he'd been burned. 

“Don't _fucking_ touch me!” He yelled, the coffee cup in his hand falling from his grip and clattering to the floor in a mess of drink and broken porcelain. “How could you? How could you _not_ tell me that it was _Snape_ that had Harry?”

“Sirius it's a very delicate situation, if you would just—”

“ _Fuck_ delicate, Remus! He's my fucking godson. _Tell me where he is!_ ” He roared the words, but Remus did not quell or back down.

“Sirius, _listen to me!_ ” Remus's yells matched his own, and he was shocked into momentary silence. Remus very rarely yelled, and that was enough to temporarily shut him up. Sirius was still seething with anger, and his body shook from the effort of keeping himself quiet. 

“ _I don't_ know _where Harry is,_ ” Remus said firmly, and though his voice dropped back down to its normal level, something in his tone all but dared Sirius to interrupt him. “ _Draco_ found Harry. He won't tell me where he's being held. All I know is that Severus has cursed Harry, and he's trying to force him to...to—” Remus cut himself off with a noise of disgust, and raked his fingers through his short hair in anger.

Sirius remained silent as Remus trailed off. The hints in the journal, the dance at the Ball all those years ago, it all added up easily to one horrifying conclusion.

“He's trying to force Harry to bond with him, isn't he?” Sirius asked, and he was amazed at how calm his voice sounded to his own ears. Remus nodded, his mouth curved in a minute frown, a look of deep disgust upon his face; Sirius felt sick, horrified that someone would do that to Harry. 

The feeling was further amplified in knowing it was not just any ex-Death Eater doing it, but  _Snivellus_ . 

_So much for Albus's golden boy,_ Sirius thought acidly, his mouth twisting into a small, bitter smile. A warm hand slipped into his own and jarred him from his thoughts. 

“Come sit down,” Remus said gently, his eyes pleading with him. “I'll explain everything.”


	6. Spellbound

Chapter 6 – Spellbound

  
It was a relief to Draco that Bill seemed to be taking the matter much more seriously than his younger siblings likely would have, at least.

Barely twenty four hours after their conversation, Draco received an owl from Remus with a short note.

_Same time, same place._

Draco felt his heart clench and breath hitch.

“This came out of my fireplace this morning,” Remus said that evening as he pushed a slightly scorched scroll of parchment across the table towards Draco. With mildly trembling hands, he picked it up and unrolled it.

  
_Remus & Draco,_

_I'm so glad to hear that Harry is alive! I'm sure everyone will be thrilled when this gets sorted and he can come home. As for your request, I have heard of that curse. I don't know a lot about it, and the references to it are sketchy at best._

_Basically,_ Anima Specula Maledictum _is a complex curse that reflects a person's soul and forces it to take physical form outside the light of the moon. It is bound to the soul of the caster by an unrequited love or desire. Whoever cast this clearly wants Harry bound to them, but Harry is obviously resisting._

_There are a few ways to break it, but it's an extremely delicate process. The easiest, at least for Harry, would be to give in to this person's advances. The curse would dissolve and he would be free. But if he is unfaithful to the person in question, the curse will reform or kill him—the literature isn't exactly clear on that part._

_The next option you have is a public proclamation. This would involve someone (Draco, I assume) proclaiming his love for Harry in a public space, and Harry reciprocating. If everything is completely consensual, the curse should dissolve. However, if Draco were to do the same proclamation to the caster, it is likely that Harry would die. Also, if the proclamation is interrupted in some way, Harry may die. It is unclear whether he drops dead on the spot or if it's more drawn out—I honestly don't know what to expect on that front._

_The last option you have is to kill the caster. In my readings from my private library and in asking some of my colleagues (I used no names, don't worry) this is the most surefire way to break the curse. Obviously, I can't imagine either of you relish the idea of offing someone, no matter what they have done. I'll keep looking to see what else I can find, but as far as I know those are the most common ways to break this curse._

_I hope things work out, keep me updated on your plans and I'll do what I can to help._

_Bill_

Draco looked up from the scroll, and frowned.

“This is good news,” Draco said, “why do you look like somebody died?” Remus hesitated in answering, and glanced away momentarily.

“Sirius, ah, put two and two together,” Remus explained, then paused as he looked back to Draco. He noticed that the older man did look more drained than usual, and assumed that Sirius's reaction likely had something to do with that. “He was not exactly pleased that we kept this from him.” The way the corner of Remus's mouth twitched gave Draco the impression that he was deliberately understating Sirius's reaction, and he could not help but laugh a little.   
  
“Pitched a fit, did he?” Draco asked, and Remus snorted.

  
“You have _no_ idea.”

  
  


The following evening, Draco stood outside Sirius and Remus's building, rocking on his heels as he braced himself to head inside. His fingers brushed over his wand in his pocket, a shield charm at the ready, and knowing Sirius, he'd probably need it.

He and Remus had agreed that keeping Sirius out of any further discussions would be unfair, now that he'd figured out what they'd been up to. Nevertheless, Draco was no stranger to the man's very Gryffindor personality traits, in particular, reacting without thinking. The last thing he wanted was the man to jinx him before he had a chance to explain everything.

Draco took one last breath to brace himself, then he ascended the stone steps, unlocked the front door, and headed up to their flat.

The walk seemed much longer than usual to Draco, and when he knocked on their door, it opened to reveal a very apprehensive-looking Remus. Clearly, Sirius was still a little upset at their deception. They stared at each other in a moment of tense silence, before Draco stepped over the threshold and slipped inside. This small movement seemed to be the catalyst that Sirius had been waiting for.

“Where's Harry?” Sirius demanded, Draco turned his head to see the older man glaring at him, his arms crossed and his shoulder leaning against the far wall. Sirius was glaring daggers at him, but Draco held his ground and glared right back. 

“I can't tell you that,” Draco replied as calmly as he could manage. Sirius's eyes narrowed at Draco's response.

“Can't or won't?”

“Fine, won't.” Draco replied as he smiled bitterly, and watched Sirius's rage bubble up like magma in a volcano.

“He's my _godson_ ,” Sirius snarled, striding forward and grabbing the front of Draco's robes, while Draco forced himself to not react. “I have a _right_ to know where he is!”

“It's for Harry's _safety_ that I'm not telling you, Sirius!” Draco said in a firm tone was just short of a shout while he wrenched himself out of his grip and took a small step backward. 

“ _Think_ for once in your damn life. What almost always happens when the kidnapper knows someone is getting close to finding their captive?” He asked while he glared at the older man, but plowed forward, not waiting for a response. “They kill their victim, or move them elsewhere! Do you _really_ want to see Harry dead?” Sirius didn't answer, but continued to glare at him. “ _Well?_ ” Draco saw him deflate slightly, but the anger never left his eyes. 

“You're right. I hate it, but you're right,” Sirius growled out the words and refused to meet the gaze of either Draco or Remus. An awkward silence followed, while Draco and Remus exchanged similar worried looks while they waited for Sirius to calm down.

“This curse...” Sirius said suddenly, though his tone was still little more than a growl, “what do we know about it?” He looked over to Remus, then reluctantly shifted his gaze to Draco. 

“We know a few things, but this curse fell into disuse some three hundred years ago, and it was more common in places like Eastern Europe than it ever was here,” Remus replied in a slightly apprehensive tone while he eyed Sirius nervously. “We have some information from Bill Weasley about it, but I'd feel more comfortable finding out more before we test out any of these supposed methods to break it. Chances are, we'll only have one shot to get this right, and I don't want to risk Harry's safety by being too hasty.” 

“Well,” Sirius said, his tone finally relaxing into a tone that was almost amused, which struck Draco as a little odd. “If you had told me what you two were up to earlier,” he shot another glare at Draco, “there is a place I know of that has a complete library of books on the Dark Arts.” He looked from Draco to Remus, as though trying to get them to guess. When they said nothing, he simply said two words, “Grimmauld Place.”

 

~*~

 

Draco hadn't come.

Harry looked up sadly to the thin crescent moon and the bright stars that dotted the velvet dark of the night sky all around it; he had forgotten how lonely it could be out here. He sighed audibly, and flopped back into the thick grass and wildflowers. Their scent was gentle and not cloying, and he wondered if he'd ever associate floral smells with anything good ever again, assuming he ever managed to escape this place. Harry folded his arms above his head in a makeshift pillow, and allowed his mind to drift.

Harry couldn't remember nodding off, but when he woke he could feel someone's palm pressing against his abdomen, caressing the flesh under his robes in gentle circles. His eyes fluttered open and he turned, hoping to see Draco. His breath caught in his throat, and he scrambled away from Snape, whose pleasantly amused expression shifted immediately to an angry glare. Harry stood up slowly, his limbs shaking a little from the shock. The enraged older man strode forward, and Harry matched his steps by hurrying backward as fast as he could.

Unfortunately, Harry's rapid retreat seemed to be exactly what Snape had been hoping for, and he felt himself back directly into a tree. His old Potions Master pressed his palms into the bark on either side of his head, and effectively caged Harry in.

“What did you think, hmm?” Snape purred, his face barely an inch from his own. Harry shuddered. “That your silver prince would swoop in and rescue you from me?” He chuckled, and Harry stared back at him, doing his best to keep from showing the man how deeply the words cut. “I hold your fate, Potter. If you are to be freed from the curse, it will be by my hand, and no one else.” He leaned in closer, and Harry pressed himself harder into the tree trunk, but Snape was too close. Harry couldn't escape. 

Snape's hot breath ghosted across Harry's mouth, his lips parted slightly as he gasped, just short of hyperventilating as he tried to control his panic. The fear in him seemed to amuse Snape, and the man chuckled softly before he kissed Harry with bruising force. Harry groaned and squirmed, lifting his arms to try and push Snape away, but the man seemed to sense what Harry was trying to do, and he wrapped his hands around Harry's wrists and pressed them back into the bark. Harry felt Snape's leg force itself between his knees, and a fresh wave of panic almost overwhelmed him.

_Oh God,_ Harry thought,  _he's actually gonna do it._ He pulled harder at his wrists, his heart beating out a wild rhythm in his chest. At that moment, Snape chuckled against his mouth, and stepped back. Relief that Snape had stopped and the residual panic from the ordeal utterly exhausted him, and Harry slid down to crumple at the base of the tree. 

Cold fingertips pressed against Harry's chin and forced his gaze upwards.

“You're mine, Potter,” Snape purred, “no one will save you, not this time.” 

Another kiss ghosted over his lips, and Harry was too drained to fight it. Snape spun on his heel and Disapparated in a flurry of black robes. The moment Harry knew he had gone, he pulled his knees up close to his chest, and pressed his forehead into his thighs. He hugged himself tightly as he tried to control his trembling.

Harry felt dirty— _Violated_ ; Snape had never come that close to rape before. 

The word made Harry pause. It was in that moment that he realized that regardless what had happened over the past five years, he had still viewed rape as something that could only happen to a girl—not a boy. Moreover, he had never thought that it could happen to  _him_ . 

_But it will,_ Harry's thoughts supplied,  _it's only a matter of time._ Harry felt another tremor run through him. 

Harry wasn't sure exactly how long he sat like that, but when he felt a warm hand touch his, his breath hitched and he lurched back from it in a blind panic, realizing too late that it was Draco.

Draco stared at Harry with wide, surprised eyes, and Harry stared back, trying to reign in the fear that had all but consumed him for the better part of the night.

“I—sorry,” Harry mumbled, breathing deeply as he tried to calm himself down, “Snape, he—” Harry shook his head, and another shudder coursed through him. Draco did not answer as he stepped forward, and knelt before Harry. He watched him with the cool, reserved expression he was best known for, and he studied Harry in silence for several long moments before he finally spoke. 

“May I touch you, Harry?” Draco asked gently. 

The question struck Harry as very odd. Why would Draco bother asking that? However Harry immediately nodded, and Draco reached out to lace his fingers with Harry's, and pressed their hands together, palm to palm. Harry felt a warm, soothing calm wash over him at the familiar contact, and Draco pulled Harry into a tight embrace. Immediately, Harry buried his face into the crook of Draco's neck.

“He says you'll never come for me,” Harry said softly, “but you always do.” Draco cradled Harry's chin, much like Snape had earlier, but his touch was gentle, warm, and welcomed. Draco kissed him lightly, then the pair fell into the flowers, stretching out until they lay side by side; Harry on his back watching the night sky, while Draco lay on his side to watch Harry.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Draco asked, his thumb brushing over the back of Harry's hand gently. His tone was soft and undemanding, and Harry recognized at once that Draco was not trying some subversive, Slytherin technique to get him to talk. He was merely trying to show Harry support in any way he could. He felt his heart swell a little at the implication.

“No,” Harry replied as he shook his head, “I just...” he trailed off, and gritted his teeth. “He just makes me feel so _weak_. I can't defend myself magically or physically against him. I'm wandless, and he's bigger than me. I _hate_ it.” Harry felt a burning in the corners of his eyes, and he cursed under his breath as he pressed his thumb and index finger into the corners of his eyes. “Damn it,” he hissed under his breath, and slowed his breathing in an attempt to calm his flaring emotions.

“You aren't weak,” Draco replied at once, his voice firm, “you never _could_ be weak. It takes great strength to deny someone like you have. Even in the face of...bodily harm, you never gave in to him. You should be proud.” Draco shimmied closer to Harry, and planted a feather-light kiss against his temple. “But, I actually came with some news tonight, that's why I'm late.”

Harry leant in to the brief touch, and smiled a little.

“Good thing you did—arrive late, I mean, considering Snape decided to spend an extra-long time harassing me this evening,” Harry said bitterly, and when he shifted his gaze to Draco, who appeared horrified by Harry's admission he forced a small smile in an attempt to hide how dirty he felt over what had transpired. “What news do you have?”

“Bill got back to us pretty fast,” Draco said, his tone muddled, as though he was struggling to work through several emotional reactions all at once, “and there seems to be a couple ways that might work to break the curse.” He paused, and his expression shifted to apprehensive as he continued, “but if we bollix it up in any way, you'll die. Sirius is taking us to his parents' house soon—apparently they've got a pretty extensive Dark Arts library.” 

Harry had unlaced his fingers from Draco's and was absently trailing them across the back of the young man's hand while he listened, shocked at himself that he didn't feel more excited by this information. Though the prospect of a means to break the curse was in sight, he found that he simply couldn't summon enough energy to feel properly excited about it. “We're going to see if we can cross-check what Bill has told us, and if it all works out...” Draco trailed off, but Harry felt as though it didn't need saying.

Harry didn't want to get his hopes up, but he couldn't help feeling low, nervous sort of excitement at the thought that his freedom might just be beyond the horizon.

“Extensive is an understatement,” Harry finally said, “Sirius took me there once, just after his mother died...I had nightmares for weeks.” He shuddered at the memory of the awful house, and Draco inched closer.

Like their previous evenings together, they lay together and talked, or kissed. Harry longed to do more than just kiss, a sentiment that Draco obviously shared, but neither boy dared risk it—what if Snape decided to show up in the middle of the night? There was no telling what he might do if he caught them in such an incriminating position.

Just before sunrise, Harry bid goodbye to Draco. Harry was grateful that he seemed to understand that he hated being seen in his stag form, and Draco was always careful to leave before it took him. Even so, saying goodbye each dawn was getting harder.

“I'll see you soon?” Harry murmured against Draco's mouth, his arms curled around his lover's waist.

“I hope so,” Draco replied just as softly before he kissed him one last time, turned, and hurried out of the meadow.

Harry watched him go, and the moment his lover disappeared from view, he felt his knees buckle and his breath hitch as the change took him again.

 

~*~

 

“Gimmauld Place?” Draco asked rhetorically, “more like _grim old place_.” Draco wrinkled his nose as he looked up at the dark, dumpy house. 

“Why do you think I left at sixteen?” Sirius demanded while he gave Draco a dirty look. “It's mine, technically, not that I come here much. But my delightful parents have an extensive collection of books on the Dark Arts. Short of checking the Restricted Section at Hogwarts, its the best I can think of.” 

Sirius headed up to the door, with Remus and Draco on his heels. He hesitated for a moment and looked back at the pair.

“Don't touch _anything,_ ” Sirius said seriously, “assume that everything can kill you.” Draco arched a brow, but didn't respond. It was slightly unnerving to see Sirius so serious, especially about a _house,_ of all things. After a moment of staring Draco down, he turned back to the door and gave it a sharp tap with his wand.

Draco listened to a series of sharp lock clicks. The charms relented to Sirius's wand, and the three were admitted. Inside was as grim and miserable as the outside, and Draco opened his mouth to say something, only to have a hand clap immediately over his mouth. He glared at Remus, who had a finger pressed urgently to his lips. He nodded a little, and pushed the hand away. Silently, Sirius led them on tip-toe through a sitting room, kitchen, and finally to a blank expanse of wall adjacent to the dining room. Sirius tapped the wall twice, and a wooden door appeared, it black paint peeling from the rotted wood. It swung open at the faintest touch, and Sirius led them inside.

The second the door shut behind them, Sirius let out a sigh, flicked his wand, and several lamps fixed into the walls ignited. The illuminated library wasn't much better than how it looked in the near-total darkness, but Draco had to admit that it was an impressive collection—though it still had nothing on the Malfoy library.

Wooden desks and tables caked in dust and grime were scattered around the large space, with row upon row of towering bookcases. Morbid bookends divided the subjects, from jars of what looked like baby teeth to cat skulls preserved in spheres of glass.

“Pick a shelf,” Sirius said grimly, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here, “and keep your wands out. My parents were paranoid bastards.”

Draco was certain Sirius had been exaggerating, but he valued his own hide enough to follow his suggestion of keeping his wand at the ready anyway. This was a good thing, as the first book he picked up seemed to be imbibed with some sort of snake venom, and it scorched the skin of his palms the moment he touched it. It took Draco several minutes and three vials of antivenom from Remus before he had fully recovered. He resumed his search, though with significantly more caution, as well as a pair of dragonhide gloves.

The library was silent, save for the occasional shout as they came across a book with a curse attached to it, or one that had a tendency to bite its reader, and it was another hour before any of them found anything useful.

“Sirius! Draco! I think I've got something!” Remus's excited cry shattered the silence, and Draco dropped _Seven Habits of Highly Effective Curses_ onto the nearby table, then hurried towards the sound of the older man's voice.

Draco skidded to a halt just short of crashing into Sirius, and Remus elbowed between them as he dropped a thick volume onto the nearby table. He ignored the cloud of dust he created, and began flicking hastily through the tissue paper-thin pages. Draco observed with a small smile that Sirius had rested a hand on the small of Remus's back, and was absently toying with the loose threads of his worn jumper. The couple were never very affectionate in public, and it warmed Draco's heart to see it, though he tried to ignore the pang of jealousy that he felt at the sight. It made him long for Harry all the more.

“Ah, yes, here it is!” Remus stepped back a little so the other two could lean in and read.

  
_Of the many curses born of unrequited affection, none are viewed with more revulsion than_ Anima Speculo Maledictum _._

_It fell out of common use during the seventeenth century, though it is still widely used by dark witches and wizards in northern climes; Russia, Scandinavia, Canada, Greenland, ect._

_The breaking of such an intricate curse must be undertaken by a highly skilled wizard, as any mistake during its invocation can be fatal to the afflicted party._

_The most common method used is a public proclamation of devotion for the afflicted. The proclamation must be genuine and consensual; any feigned emotion will result in the spell failing, or in worst-case scenarios, the death of the afflicted._

_The proclamation must take place before an audience, and detail the curse-breaker's most heartfelt desires for the afflicted. A promise of a future bonding ceremony of some kind will strengthen the spell, though it is not always necessary._

_If a proclamation cannot be performed, killing the caster of the curse will reverse its effects. Studies indicate that depending on the form the afflicted's Speculo takes, as well as the duration of the curse may play a part in how they are affected following the death of the caster. Certain accounts detailed the afflicted experiencing weakness or a brief comatose state following their death, while others were completely unaffected._

_The most uncommon method of removing Speculo is the afflicted reciprocating the affections of the caster. It is ill-advised to attempt to hoodwink the curse by feigning love for the caster, as this course of action is often fatal for the afflicted._

  
The few paragraphs were followed by a lot of mathematical equations and graphs explaining the curse in further detail. Draco pulled back, uncertain of what exactly he was feeling. They had answers,  _finally_ . But why wasn't he more excited?

“Well,” Sirius said, “it definitely matches up with Bill's information. What do we do now?”

“Does it detail what I'm supposed to say at this proclamation?” Draco asked as he leant forward again, but Remus frowned as he skimmed over the page.

“Not that I can see. I suppose the authors were romantics, and believe it should come from the heart or something to that effect,” Remus replied while he flicked through a few more pages, and he shook his head again. “We'll need to keep looking, I think, before we decide. But I think this proclamation seems to be our best option. What Severus has done is unforgivable, but I don't think killing him is the answer.” 

“Damn tempting though,” Sirius muttered; Draco chuckled a little at his response, and Remus smiled a little, though he didn't answer him.

They descended the stairs from Grimmauld Place several hours later, wads of parchment and a few select volumes under their arms. Had they been less jovial and more observant, they may have noticed a skulking figure in the shadows, muttering to himself.

“Too close, they're getting too close...” he murmured in a panic, and quickly Disapparated. 

 

~*~

 

The sharp  _crack_ of someone apparating nearby caused Harry's head to snap up in alarm. It was not yet late afternoon, and yet he saw Snape striding towards him, his robes billowing out on either side as he rushed forward. Harry stood, and pawed the ground nervously as Snape reached him, and lifted a hand to stroke the soft fur against the side of Harry's throat. He stamped the ground angrily and tossed his head, but like so many times before, didn't dare attack.

“It seems your boyfriend and his mutts are cleverer than I gave them credit for,” Snape said smoothly, and Harry's animalistic gaze met Snape's, his eyes wide. 

_Does he know?_ Harry wondered, while Snape approached him again, and he grudgingly allowed his captor to pet him, though the contact made him shiver. 

“I'll need to keep a closer eye on them,” Snape said firmly, “Draco will _not_ claim you.” Harry felt his eyes bulge and his body reared as Snape twisted, dragging him away from the meadow and into the suffocation of Side-Along Apparition. 

 

~*~

 

“Damn it,” Draco muttered as he stumbled, his foot catching in an upturned root. He shook his head while he tried to rid himself of the aftereffects of his Apparition; Under his arm he held the heavy tome that Sirius had lent him, stuffed with scraps of parchment of their note-taking and cross-referencing. It had almost made him feel like he was back at Hogwarts, doing all this work, but no school project had ever left him this excited. 

Draco reoriented himself and was unable to stifle the grin as he hurried towards the meadow. Draco paused on its edge, and his smile faltered.

It was empty.

He swept his gaze over the entire circle again, but as with the first time he looked, it was devoid of his dark-haired lover. He stepped out tentatively.

“Harry?” Draco called, and his voice sounded unnervingly loud in the stillness of the wood. Something felt very wrong. 

“ _Harry!_ ” Draco cried, his voice echoing, but no response came.

_For Gods' sake, am I a wizard or not?_ Draco thought while he shook his head, and drew his wand. 

 

“ _Homenum revelio._ ” 

 

Nothing happened.

 

No human presence.

 

Draco fell to his knees and fisted his hair.

 

_Gone again_ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A+ to Dinkydog for calling Grimmauld Place! I actually considered posting both chapter 6&7 at the same time, but I think it'd be more fun to let you guys stew, mwahahahaha...
> 
> I really wanted to make the argument scene longer, but dialogue has never been my strong suit, but I did my best :/


	7. Phases

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Omg the comments tho. You guys RULE. This chapter is the start of some of my favourite bits in the whole story. I hope you guys enjoy them as they come :D

Chapter 7 – Phases

  
The tiny golden snitch glimmered in the low light of the dying fire.

Draco held it up between his fingertips, and watched the low light refract off it. Rainbow patterns danced across the dark walls of his bedroom and illuminated the designs of maroon and gold with their light. Draco let out a soft sigh as he opened his fingers, and the tiny piece of metal to tumbled down into his palm. He closed his hand into a fist, and the snitch bit into his hand.

“Harry, where are you?” Draco asked the empty room, and he closed his eyes as he felt his stomach clench as he fought down a fresh wave of guilt-ridden anguish. 

Where had they gone wrong? How did Snape find out that they were getting close?

No answers came to him in the near dark—they never did.

A soft tapping on his door snapped Draco out of his daze, and he turned to see his mother let herself in with a thick scroll of parchment clasped in her hand.

Draco sat up and he eyed her suspiciously; his mother glared back, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Draco, I will _not_ tolerate this ridiculous sulking,” she said firmly, “the Beltane Ball is in two days,” the corner of her mouth twitched, a telling reaction. Draco didn't need an auger to guess what she was up to. “I'd like you to look over the guest list, to see if I have forgotten anyone.”

“Come hell or high water, the Malfoys love a party,” Draco muttered darkly, while he glowered at his mother. “I've told you, Mother, I don't need you playing matchmaker—I don't need a husband.” 

 

_I need Harry_ . 

 

He did not vocalize the thought—it would only lead to another argument.

“The Malfoy line _must_ continue, Draco,” she said firmly, “your father and I will not be around forever, and it's high time that you settled down and stopped with this ridiculous wild goose chase for a dead man.” She thrust the scroll at her son. Draco glared at it, and flicked his wand. It ignited, and Narcissa dropped it with a cry as it curled into ash long before it hit the floor. 

“Now _really,_ ” she snapped angrily at Draco, “those two have had a bad influence on you. I swear, you behave more and more like a Black and less like a Malfoy every day!” 

Draco assumed his mother had meant it as an insult, but he merely smirked. He stood up and strode towards his door.

“Where do you think you are going, young man?” she cried shrilly, “we are _not_ finished!”

“I'm going flying,” Draco replied, amazed that he had managed to keep his voice so steady, despite the fact that he was close to shaking with anger, “I can't be here anymore.” 

He stalked off without another word, and his mother's angry cries followed him all the way out of the manor.

 

~*~

 

Harry had no idea where he was, but that was nothing new.

It was a dark forest, with an old, abandoned farmhouse and silo nestled amongst the trees. The air felt heavy and humid, and Harry could barely see the sky through the thick canopy of leafy trees above him; and it felt almost claustrophobic. It was warmer here, and Harry guessed that Snape had taken him somewhere farther south. Harry remembered that he had said something about 'keeping an eye' on Draco, though he had no idea what that might mean for his lover. Was Snape planning on killing him?

Harry shivered at the horrible thought.

Night had fallen several hours before, but Snape had not come to him yet. While this would normally be something of a relief for Harry, that evening it felt more like an ill omen—what was his captor up to?

Harry sat down on a large boulder that rested against a thick tree trunk, and he pressed his thighs into his chest, then rested his chin upon his knees. His arms coiled around his legs in a motion of an embrace as he tried to comfort himself in a way he hadn't had to do for a long time; it reminded him sickeningly of his youthful days in the hands of his blood relatives. No comfort, no love, only fear.

Despite the warmth in the air, Harry felt a chill that seemed to reach his bones, and he shivered.

A gentle hand rested upon his shoulder, and Harry spun, his eyes wide with hope, only to lurch away from the touch when he saw who it was. Harry's lip curled in disgust, and he quickly scrambled to his feet, then took another step back as Snape stepped forward.

“Come now, Harry, aren't we past all this?” Snape purred as he moved forward again, and Harry mirrored his steps. He turned quickly to make sure he wouldn't trap himself against a tree, but that small movement was his fatal mistake.

Harry's breath caught in surprise and fear when he felt a cold hand wrap around his wrist, while the other rested against his waist. He turned sharply and tried to pull his hand from the man's grip, but Snape only tightened his hold. The older man's expression was intensely focused upon him, and he watched Harry like a cat might watch a mouse. Harry tried to control his breathing, and attempted to glare back at his captor, but his panic, intermingled with his despair, made it nearly impossible to maintain any kind of composure.

“You make my skin crawl,” Harry hissed at last, and he just barely managed to keep the tremor from his voice, “don't you know a lost cause when you see one? I'll never say 'yes' to you. Never.” 

“Still waiting for your Slytherin in shining armour to come save you?” Snape sneered, and he jerked Harry's body closer to his own. “You're pathetic,” he growled as he shoved Harry away suddenly, and Harry grunted as he tumbled into the leaf litter of the forest floor. 

He lifted his gaze and glared, but Snape had already stalked off in a swirl of billowing robes.

 

~*~

 

The broom ride had done little to ease Draco's worries, but he had welcomed the distraction that it had provided from his mother's incessant pestering.

He loved the peace he felt when he rode his now out-of-date Nimbus 2001—even if it  _had_ never been enough to beat his lover at Quidditch. His memories filled Draco with warmth and a hollowed ache in equal measure as he recalled his long past school days while he skimmed along the treetops, barely disturbing the canopies beneath his feet. 

When darkness fell completely, he reluctantly turned back home.

His mother was still angry at Draco for his outburst from the night before, and she made it clear with her terse responses over breakfast and rigid way she held herself, though she never brought it up specifically. Thankfully, she made no mention of the impending Ball—at least where he was concerned.

Draco did not fail to notice the near-constant stream of owls that flew in and out of the window of Narcissa Malfoy's study, presumably containing last-minute details or invitations to more 'eligible bachelors' for him. Draco shuddered at the thought.

He managed to avoid his mother for most of the day, but by late afternoon his luck had begun to wane. With no more ideas on how to restart his search for Harry, he, Remus, and Sirius had wordlessly taken a mental break from each other's company. The second disappearance of Harry had utterly destroyed their hope of breaking his curse, and they needed a breather.

Draco had been shrugging into his travelling cloak and grabbing his broom when his mother finally caught up with him.

“Draco, _there_ you are!” his mother said as she rushed forward. Draco grimaced as he noticed the large sheaf of parchment that she had clutched in her hand. He whipped out his wand, and she stopped short of cursing distance. “If you burn these papers, you'll wish you've never been born,” his mother warned, and she spoke so coldly that Draco actually faltered.

“What is it, then?” he asked warily, while he kept his wand steady, _incendio_ perched upon the tip of his tongue.

“Regardless of your personal feelings,” she began, “we are having a Ball tomorrow night, and I _expect_ you to attend and wear proper dress robes for the occasion, not this...this _muggle_ garb you have become so fond of. We have an image to maintain, whether you like it or not. Is that clear?” 

Draco bit back a groan of frustration and nodded his head sullenly. What point was there in arguing? He knew his mother well, and she would pester and nag him until he agreed to attend.

“Fine, mother. I'll come,” he grumbled while he shouldered his broom and turned toward the doors. “I'm going flying. I'll see you later.” He heard his mother make some sort of protest, but he ignored her as he slipped out the door.

 

It was a fine, warm day, and the moment Draco had taken to the air he felt his stress begin to ebb.

The wind whipped his hair from his face, and his cloak rippled out behind him. Below him, the dense forest of the Malfoy property stretched out in front of him in a sea of green. Of course, it wasn't like they had any use for the hundreds of acres of forest that they owned, but keeping it as a sanctuary for several endangered magical creature species kept up their charitable image nicely.

He dove, and his feet brushed over the treetops. Several songbirds took flight as he approached, twittering angrily. Draco looked ahead, and saw nothing but the greenery and the clear blue of the sky. It felt peaceful, and it reminded Draco of those nights that he had spent with Harry.

His heart ached as his bespectacled lover came to mind; Draco shook his head a little in an effort to dispel the anguish at the thought of him.

Draco spent the rest of the afternoon flying, and as dusk began to approach, he was reluctant to go home. There was nothing there for him—except a mother that was determined to marry him off as fast as possible. He had hardly seen his father since their disastrous hunting trip; he had been spending a great deal of time at the Ministry lately, presumably greasing the palm of every higher-up he could.

Some things never changed.

As Draco reached the edge of the Malfoy property, he slowed and hovered in midair. The forest was as thick as ever, and when he looked down he could see nothing but dense forest.

But as his eyes roved over the leafy trees below him, he saw slow movement—an animal of some kind. He squinted, and realized with a heart wrenching gasp that it was a stag.

A stag with a curious zigzag of white upon its forehead.

 

~*~

 

Harry was picking his way slowly through the thick brush of the forest floor and back to his prison for the evening. He felt painfully hollow and lonely, and as he walked, he wondered just how long he could continue like this. He missed Draco terribly, and the feelings of longing for the blond had doubled after his reappearance some weeks earlier.

His hooves made almost no noise upon the soft ground, and his area of the wood seemed to be devoid of life; he hardly heard or saw any birds or other animals anymore. For the first time in a long time, he felt completely alone. He was uncertain whether this was Snape's doing or not, to cut him off so completely, but the complete solitude was beginning to wear on him, and it had been less than a week that they'd been at this new location.

He had barely made it back to his 'home' when he heard a sudden, loud rustle of snapping branches somewhere above him. He looked up, but at the same moment the change took him, and his vision was obscured by the light of his transformation. His legs gave out beneath him, and as the light dissipated and he looked back up, Draco was there. He was staring at Harry with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open, as though he could not believe what he was seeing.

Harry blinked several times and shook his head, certain that he was hallucinating. Draco did not look as put-together as usual—he was gripping his broom in one hand, his travelling cloak was badly torn, and it was just barely hanging onto his shoulders. His hair was sticking up every which way, and there was a thin scratch on his cheek.

Draco dropped his broom, and took a few tentative steps forward. Harry stood up and eyed him nervously. Could this be some trick of Snape's? But as he took a small step forward, something told him that what he was seeing was real.

At the exact same moment, both young men ran at each other and they fell into a bone-crushing embrace.

Harry buried his face in Draco's shoulder, inhaling the scent of him, of sweat and cedar, as well as the lingering remnants of his overpriced cologne. Harry trembled, and gripped more tightly to him. Neither of them spoke, and Harry felt one of Draco's arms wrap possessively around his waist, and he pulled Harry closer.

“Harry,” Draco whispered, his voice shaking, as though he, too, could not believe it.

Harry lifted his head, and saw that his lover was crying. He cradled Draco's cheek and kissed him fiercely, gentleness forgotten in the mess of tongues, lips and teeth.

“I thought I'd never see you again,” Harry murmured as they broke apart, and he fisted Draco's robes, terrified that he might disappear. 

Draco didn't say anything, but instead kissed Harry, this time cradling his jaw gently in his hand, his movements tender and precise.

“I will always find you,” Draco replied, absolute certainty ringing in his voice as he smiled faintly, “haven't you figured that out yet?” Harry laughed, and relaxed his hold slightly, but refused to let go. 

“Harry,” Draco murmured suddenly, his breath tickling Harry's cheek, “I have some news. _Good_ news.” Harry looked up at Draco curiously, but did not have a chance to speak as Draco steamrolled forward. “Tomorrow is Beltane, and my family is hosting a Ball. Can you make it to the Manor?”

“Draco, I don't even know _where_ I am,” Harry said with a hopeless sputter, “how am I supposed to get there? And...why?” Draco words confused Harry; he couldn't work out what good going to a ball would do—the last one he'd attended at the Malfoy Manor didn't exactly end well.

“You're not more then fifty miles from the Manor,” Draco replied with a small laugh, “we found a way to break the curse. If I make a public proclamation of my devotion to you, the curse will break. You'll be free.” 

Harry's mouth dropped open.

“Are you sure?” Harry breathed, “would that actually work?” Harry moved to ask another question, but he heard a distinctive rustle just beyond his field of vision. His eyes widened fearfully. 

“Snape's coming!” Harry hissed as he pushed himself out of Draco's embrace almost violently, “you need to get out of here!”

“Promise you'll come,” Draco whispered fiercely as he pulled something small and shiny from his pocket and pressed it into Harry's hand, “please, Harry.”

Harry looked down into his palm and stared. It was one of his old snitch cuff links. Harry felt his heart swell at the sight of it, and he nodded vigorously.

“I promise,” Harry whispered, “please, get out of here before he sees you!” 

He moved to kiss Harry one last time, a kiss he was all too happy to return, then Draco grabbed his broom without another word, and took off.

Harry watched him disappear into the dark, and not a moment too soon. Snape slipped out from the darkness of the trees, and Harry felt a wave of nausea crash over him at the sight of his captor.

“Who were you talking to, Potter?” Snape asked, and his slow, silky voice made Harry shudder. 

“No one,” he replied, relieved that he managed to keep the tremble out of his voice, but spoke too quickly. Snape smirked.

“Well, isn't that interesting,” he said while he chuckled darkly. Snape held something up, and it glimmered in the faint light cast by the thin sliver moonlight. Harry squinted, and realized that it was a silver catch from a cloak. 

“I found this tangled in the branches of a tree not five feet from here,” Snape explained, “how very interesting that it seems to carry the _Malfoy_ family insignia.” 

Harry blanched, and took a step backward. Snape's nasty smirk widened.

“I can smell that little brat on you, even from here,” Snape said in a low, dangerous tone. “Do you take me for a fool, Potter?” He demanded as his eyes flashed.

“You can't scare me, not anymore,” Harry shot back, speaking more bravely than he felt, “we're going to break the curse. There's nothing you can—” Snape cut him off with a barking laugh.

“Oh yes, I caught your touching little reunion,” he replied with another nasty smirk, and he stepped forward. Harry immediately stepped back while he swallowed nervously. Snape's lack of anger at this admission wasn't a good sign. 

“In all your subterfuge, you seem to have forgotten one thing,” Snape said, the tone of voice reminiscent of one holding a bomb, and was preparing to drop it. He looked up at the thin crescent in the sky, then returned his gaze to Harry with a triumphant smirk upon his face.

“Tomorrow night, there is _no_ moon."


	8. The Will of Artemis

Chapter 8 – The Will of Artemis

 

The sun seemed to shine a little brighter that morning as Draco took his time washing up and getting dressed. He took special care to select his best Muggle suit, and he helped himself to some toast from the kitchens before Apparating to Sirius and Remus's flat.

Though he had sent them an owl the night before telling them everything, he was too excited to wait for their response. Being mindful that he might be too early, he decided to Apparate to the steps of their building, and walked up to their flat. Draco's knuckle had barely made contact with the door before it was flung open, and a startled yelp escaped him as Sirius dragged him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Sirius—” Draco gasped, “oxygen, becoming an issue...” 

Sirius let him go and held him at arm's length, his hand resting on Draco's shoulders. His joy radiated off him like an aura, and though he hadn't said a word, it was clear that his feelings perfectly mirrored Draco's.

“You found him,” Sirius said at last, his voice cracking as he spoke, “ _how_? Your letter didn't say.” 

“Come sit down,” Remus added as he, pried Sirius off of Draco, and motioned towards the kitchen. “We were just in the middle of breakfast.” 

“Oh, I hope I'm not too early...”

“Nonsense,” Remus said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “you're family.” The older man smiled at him, and Draco felt strangely warm at the statement as he nodded with a small smile. He followed the pair to their little table, and accepted the cup of tea that Remus pressed into his hands. At first, Draco wasn't sure what to say, or how to start. They were staring at him expectantly, and after a moment, the story poured out of him.

He told them of his mother pressuring him to 'settle down' with someone, her plans for inviting eligible men to their annual Beltane Ball, and the shouting match that had followed. He told them about seeing Harry on the edge of the Malfoy property line just by chance, and an abridged version of the reunion that had followed, and his invitation nigh plea for Harry to come to the Ball.

“For this Proclamation though, I just don't know specifically what it should entail,” Draco finished as he looked from Sirius to Remus uncertainly. They exchanged a look, and then shifted their gazes back to Draco, almost in perfect symmetry. If Draco was being perfectly honest, he found the synchronicity a little unnerving.

“The texts I've found about this curse are fairly hazy on what needs to be said at the Proclamation,” Remus explained, “there's no incantation or ritual, at least, not that I've found.” He paused and rubbed at his jaw thoughtfully for a moment before he continued. “It seems that if you're speaking from the heart, that's all that matters. If I were you, I wouldn't practice or think on it too much. Wait until the right time, and do what comes naturally.”

“I wish I knew what the right thing to say _was_ ,” Draco muttered as he ran his thumb along the lip of the teacup. He looked back up to the pair, and seeing them together, their hands intertwined in a motion that was born of years of habit, and not in a deliberate show of affection. However, it still made Draco's heart ache with envy.

“It'll come to you,” Remus said confidently in his patient, even voice. Over the years, it had become a soothing sound to Draco—a voice of reason intermingled with the chaos brought on by his own parents. Draco shifted his gaze back to the teacup; the sediment from the tea leaves were swirling around the bottom, and he watched their slow, leisurely movements as he mulled everything over.

Despite the werewolf's reassurances, Draco wasn't so sure. How could he just do it off the top of his head like that? Harry had always been good at quick thinking, not him. He wanted to plan this out.

“Draco,” Sirius's voice snapped him out of his daze, and he looked up. He tried to rearrange his expression to hide his apprehension over the coming evening, though he did not think he had entirely managed it, if Sirius's expression was anything to go by. “If it helps, we can go back to the Black Library and do some more research.” His tone was gentler than usual, and Draco found it was more unsettling than comforting.

“No...” Draco trailed off as he looked away from them, and his eyes took in every part of the tiny flat as he mulled everything over. It occurred to him rather suddenly that he was sitting in Harry's home, a place where Harry had spent most of his life, with the two people that now sat not two feet from him. How could he not have realized how difficult this must have been for them, to know that Draco knew where their child was, but virtually incapable of helping him? The envy that Draco had felt a moment before was completely overwhelmed by guilt.

“I'm sorry,” Draco said after a long silence, and refused to meet their gaze while he struggled to compose himself.

“Whatever for?” Remus asked, and Draco turned to face them again. Remus started slightly at the sight of him, though Draco couldn't exactly blame him—he was fairly certain that this was the first time they'd ever seen him this close to tears. 

“Everything,” Draco whispered hoarsely, “if it wasn't for me, and this...this betrothal, Harry might've never been taken like this...” he sniffed, feeling completely pathetic as he roughly rubbed the tears from his eyes before they had a chance to fall.

“Draco, look at me,” Remus said firmly. It took him a moment, but Draco eventually refocused his gaze on the pair. To his great surprise, Remus was smiling, though there was a bitterness in the expression. “This is _not_ your fault. You cannot blame yourself for the choices of Vernon Dursley, who had chosen to go forward with this betrothal, no more than you can blame yourself for Severus's mental instability. _None_ of this is your fault. If anything, we are the ones who should take the blame, for not fighting harder to keep him safe from...” Remus faltered, and mirrored anguished expressions flitted both his and Sirius's faces. “If anything, we are grateful for you, Draco. You have never given up on him, you never stopped looking for him, even when we—” he paused when he received a scathing look from his bonded, “—when _I_ had my doubts. You were the one who found him. If it wasn't for you, he'd still be lost to us.”

Remus reached across the table and took the young man's hand. “Don't torture yourself over this. It's almost over. And he'll be home with us soon.”

Swallowing the swell of emotion that had settled in his throat, Draco nodded weakly.

 

~*~

 

“Oh, Harry,” Snape said, and his smooth, toxic voice echoed in the silo. Harry snorted and stamped his hooves angrily against the ground; the leather collar around his neck was uncomfortable, and the chains that bound him to the wall clanked with every move that he made. 

Snape reached forward and brushed his hand along the side of Harry's maw. He tried to lurch away from the feather-light touch, but he couldn't go far enough to get out of the man's reach. He smirked.

“You know you have no one to blame but yourself for this,” Snape purred, “If you had only said yes to me, all of this could have been avoided.” He paused, and his long-fingered hand pressed into the side of Harry's jaw, which forced his wide-eyed gaze to meet Snape's. “If you had just said yes to me, I would have allowed you to live. But now...I'm afraid you need to die.”

Harry reared angrily, kicking out at Snape with his front legs, but Snape stepped backward, well out of Harry's reach. He jerked roughly against the collar, ignoring how it made him choke, but he couldn't get free. Snape watched him, amusement glittering in his black eyes.

“Until tonight, Mr Potter.”

Harry watched him slip out of the silo, the door snapped shut behind him, and he heard the sharp click of the door closing and the lock shifting into place as he was engulfed in darkness. Unlike the barn that it stood by, which was barely a barn and closer to a pile of rubble, the silo stood strong and smelt of musty hay and mould. There were a few cracks in the metal structure, allowing scant beams of light to dance across the narrow ground, though it was barely enough to see by. The silo was barely six feet in diameter, and even without Harry's restraints he would still have felt claustrophobic in the small space.

Harry pulled at the collar, and dug his hooves into the soil as he did so. He kicked at the wall behind him as he tossed his head with frustration, but no matter what he did, the restraints refused to give. He let out a hopeless little huff, and moved to try and lie down, just as a sudden new sound startled him back to attention. It was a scrabbling of small claws against the metal, and as Harry looked around, he struggled to pinpoint the location of the noise as it echoed all around him.

After several tense moments in which Harry tugged uselessly at his restraints while he looked around for the source of the sound, a tiny circle of light appeared at the base of the silo. Harry watched it curiously, head cocked to the side, and a moment later, the little grey head of squirrel poked inside.

Harry stared as the little rodent wiggled, and squeezed itself into the silo with him. It chittered excitedly as it scampered forward, and climbed up Harry's leg to perch on his back.

Harry stamped the ground nervously, his shock and confusion momentarily inhibiting him as he tried to figure out what the little creature was up to. Not even a minute later, a second squirrel squeezed its way in, and joined its fellow on his back. Harry twisted, trying to see what they were doing, but he was hesitant to try and buck them off—what if he hurt them? He felt them climb closer to his neck, and he tensed, but they merely chittered more, and Harry had the strangest feeling that they were trying to soothe him. Harry stopped fidgeting, and he felt a strange, gentle tugging against the collar.

Harry carefully turned his head left and right as he tried to see what the squirrels were doing, but every time did so, the rodents would chitter angrily, and refuse to move until he had turned his head back. While Harry had no idea what they were doing, something told him that he was in no danger. He settled, and let the little creatures get on with—whatever they were doing.

Night slowly fell around Harry, and the squirrels were still on him. By now, he had realized that the little creatures were trying to chew through the thick leather. He had no idea why the little creatures would even want to help him, but he was grateful all the same. As the complete dark engulfed them, he felt the little creatures curl up and go still. Despite the darkness, like Snape had said the night before, the lack of moon in the sky meant that he would not regain his human form tonight. Harry felt a pained ache as he remained in his stag form, but he was distracted from it almost at once when the door rattled and Harry tensed. He stamped at the ground nervously and huffed through his nose as the door opened, and Snape stood there, illuminated by wandlight, and regarded Harry with a nasty smirk.

 

~*~

 

Draco had left Remus and Sirius some hours earlier to prepare for the Ball, and already the gardens behind the Manor were alive with activity. His mother directed the servers, dancers, musicians, caterers, and house elves much like a captain leading troops into battle. The sight made Draco uneasy, as it reminded him how important this night had suddenly become for him. He retreated to his bedroom, which was easily the same size as Remus and Sirius's entire flat, and sifted through his dress robes as he tried to find the perfect ones.

Black, white, green... Draco simply couldn't decide. He fingered a white set of dress robes with silver embroidery, and the silk tumbled over his fingers in smooth folds.

_Why am I obsessing over this? It's only Harry._ Draco thought, and paused as he smiled. He realized suddenly that it wasn't because it was  _only_ Harry—it was  _because_ it was Harry. The idea of seeing him tonight made Draco's heart swell with excitement, and some of his confidence returned, he plucked a set of silver and green dress robes from his wardrobe.

 

~*~

 

“Your precious Ball is scheduled to begin soon,” Snape sneered, while Harry glared at him. Something in his expression made Harry feel like something was _very_ wrong, even more than usual. He pawed at the ground nervously, and at the same time he did his best to keep from dislodging his little companions that were still curled up on his back. “There was something I failed to mention earlier...” Snape lifted his wand, flicked it, and a small ball of light hovered in midair, just barely illuminating the small space. Snape tucked away his wand, and pulled out something else from his robes, a glass vial containing what looked like mud. Recognizing the potion at once, Harry felt himself fill with white-hot fear.

Snape had something fine pinched between the fingers of his opposite hand. He uncorked the vial, and sprinkled in the thing. The potion frothed and immediately turned from muddy brown to a gleaming gold.

_No, you can't..._ Harry thought, but without his voice he could only grunt plaintively and tug at his restraints. Snape lifted the vial as if to toast him, and tossed it back. Before Harry's eyes, Snape transformed into his double. Harry grunted and whined, straining harder against the leather collar, while the little creatures on his back still did not move despite Harry's struggling. 

“Well now,” Snape-Harry said, “I wonder what will happen if your precious Draco makes his proclamation to _me_ , instead of you?” The sound of his own voice, carrying that nasty sneer made his stomach roil. “But first...” He lifted out a pair of glasses from his pocket, and transfigured his robes similar to the ones Harry himself had worn at Lughnasadh five years earlier. As a last touch, Snape produced the tiny snitch, and pinned it to one of his cuffs.

Laughing cruelly, Snape-Harry turned and left, the door locking behind him with a painful note of finality.

 

~*~

 

“Draco, stop fidgeting,” his mother scolded, and Draco glowered at her. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she stood with her son and husband at the gates, and they greeted each guest as they arrived. He did not fail to notice the amount of young men that filtered in, his mother eyeing him knowingly each time he stepped forward to greet one of them. Draco's tone was formal and businesslike, and he did his best to ignore the looks of disapproval his parents gave him each time. 

Across the gardens, Remus and Sirius stood side by side, looking as nervous as he felt. He was fairly certain that their thoughts were similar to his: Would Harry come?  _When_ would Harry come? Will this even work? His mother was not at all pleased at his insistence on inviting the couple, but relented finally to avoid another screaming match with her son. Draco couldn't help but smile inwardly at the small victory.

Draco felt as though he had been standing by the gate for hours. Guests trickled in, some he recognized, such as his old classmates—Zabini, McLaggen, and others he knew by face, though not by name. Ministry officials that were close with his father, and complete strangers that Draco had never even heard of, despite his parents' insistence that they had met previously.

He greeted guests for over an hour before he was finally relieved of his duties. He snatched a wineglass from a nearby server, wove past a stage displaying a troupe of Morris dancers, and over to Remus and Sirius. Draco could feel his mother's glare boring into his back, but he ignored it. Draco drained half his wine in one, and Remus reached out to grip his shoulder gently.

“Breathe, Draco. He'll be here,” Remus said reassuringly, and Draco turned back to observe the partygoers.

“I hope so.”

 

~*~

 

The second that Snape had left, the squirrels on his back jumped up, chittering animatedly as though there had been no interruption. He stamped the ground impatiently, his muscles taut with panic and stress. Given that they had been working on it for several hours already, it did not take much more time for his little friends to finish their work, and the leather collar fell to the ground. At once the squirrels took off and burrowed back out of the hole that they had slipped in through.

Harry wasted no time with his newfound mobility, and he backed up as far as he could go before running right at the door. His antlers scraped against the metal, but hardly dented it. Undeterred, Harry straightened up, and tried again.

After three more attempts at ramming the door, Harry's head began to ache. The door looked the same as ever, and just as he was beginning to wonder if his attempts were futile, he heard a chittering on the opposite side of the door. Confused, Harry took a few steps back, only to jump in surprise moments later when he heard the loud  _thump_ of something large and heavy hitting the door. Unlike his own efforts, the door shifted slightly in its frame. Harry took another few steps back just as the door was rammed again, and this time it rattled more loudly. Harry stamped his hooves impatiently, and struggled with his urge to run forward and ram the door.

The door trembled one last time, and on the fourth ram, the frame split apart and the door swung open, its upper hinges just barely hanging on. At once the young buck jumped aside as Harry pelted out of the door at top speed without even a moment's pause.

 

~*~

 

Draco checked his watch. The Ball had started over two hours ago, and he was beginning to get anxious.  _ Where was Harry? _ His stomach knotted as his worry had begun to mount. 

Around him, the Morris dancers had finished their performance and were now mingling with the guests, and a small string quartet was filling the silence. People danced across the smooth patio, magically enlarged for the evening's celebrations, while others stood on the sidelines and watched.

It was a small comfort that Draco was not the only one feeling tense. Next to him, Remus and Sirius looked so rigid Draco felt as though one strong breeze might snap them in two. Despite reassurances to Draco as well as one another that,  _yes, Harry will be here,_ and,  _there's nothing to worry about, this will work,_ now that the time had come, Draco's belief had begun to falter. Harry's absence was not helping his stress, and his eyes flicked repeatedly to the entryway, though no new guests arrived.

“He'll be here,” Draco said, more to himself than to the others, but his quiet reassurances did not help to calm him as much as he had hoped that they would. His heart felt as though it had jumped into his throat, and he took another overlarge swallow of wine in an attempt to calm himself.

“As the Muggles say: Ask and ye shall receive,” Sirius suddenly murmured quietly, giving Draco's shoulder a gentle squeeze. Draco turned to him, brow furrowed in confusion, and Sirius nodded towards the entryway with a small smile, “look.”

Draco turned, and his breath caught. Guests nearby hadn't noticed him yet, but as Sirius plucked his wineglass from his hand and he strode purposefully across the lawn, Draco caught the sound of shocked gasps and snatches of conversation.

“Who is that?”

“Why does he look so familiar?”

“Is that who I think it is?”

“It can't be, he's dead!”

None of the voices mattered to Draco, and he just barely managed to keep himself from running towards Harry, who was smiling knowingly at him.


	9. The Snakes Start To Sing

Chapter 9 – The Snakes Start To Sing

  
The dark forest shot past Harry in a blur of shapes—tree trunks, clusters of brush, boulders—it all looked the same to Harry in his haste. Eyes wide and chest heaving, he ran faster than he ever had in his life, desperate to get there before Snape did.

In the near-pitch black, Harry watched in silent wonder as the forest awoke around him, and came to his aid—around him all manner of creature had emerged from the depths of the wood: deer, badgers, squirrels, bears, foxes, weasels, hippogriffs, thestrals, and he even spotted the large, hulking forms of several acromantula. Harry had lost count of them all. They stood on either side of him as he ran, as though he was running down some sort of aisle, making sure that he didn't lose his way.

Harry's lungs burned, but he refused to stop. It was no small distance to the Malfoy Manor, of that he was certain. He needed to stop Snape before it was too late.

 

~*~

 

Harry seemed more confident than Draco remembered him to be. Draco extended his hand, and Harry took it without question. In silence, he led Harry towards the magically enlarged patio, just as the musicians struck up a low, heartfelt ballad. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sirius and Remus clutching at one another, struggling with their obvious desire to race forward and embrace their adoptive son, but forced themselves to hold back. In contrast, his own parents were staring with wide eyes, their mouths agape, all Malfoy pride and dignity forgotten.

Draco couldn't help but smirk a little at that.

Draco felt his heart swell as their hands clasped together, and they danced across the floor elegantly, just as they had the last time they'd shared a ballroom floor. The other couples had stepped back, and they danced alone while the other revellers stared in silent awe at the young man that the entire wizarding world had believed to be dead.

Draco stared at the young man that was smiling back at him, and he felt as though his breath had been chased away. If he was this speechless, how was he supposed to make a proclamation? Harry was smiling knowingly at him as they danced, and he moved much more gracefully than Draco would have expected. His eyes roved over Harry's face, drinking in the small half-smile, the glimmering jewel-bright eyes behind his glasses, and the golden skin under a mop of untidy hair. This moment, the feeling of dancing with Harry again like this was more than he could ever have hoped for. Draco burned it into his memory, and hoped that he would never forget it.

When the last quivering notes of the string instruments faded into silence, and the couple slowed to a stop as applause filled the silence. Draco turned back to the assembled crowd, smiling faintly while Harry smirked next to him. He eyed Harry quizzically, but the young man offered no explanations. Draco adjusted his position until he was standing right next to Harry, an arm coiled around his waist, and he addressed the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, charming his voice louder in order to call attention to himself and his partner, “I have an announcement to make.”  
  


~*~

 

Harry twisted and turned through the deep forest, gasping for breath as he moved. It was much farther to the Manor than he had expected, and after his reluctance to pace himself, it was finally catching up with him. He staggered as exhaustion began to set in more firmly, but his own face, wearing Snape's foul expression once more floated into the forefront of his mind, and with renewed burning intensity, he forced himself onward.

With one last push of his aching muscles, he broke through the wood and found himself on the easternmost side of the Manor. Harry faltered for a moment, panting, but the creatures that had helped him refused to let him stop now. He grunted in surprise when he felt something sharp butt his hindquarters, and he turned to see one of the young bucks urging him forward. He had no idea how to thank the creature, but it seemed to understand, and waited until Harry started moving again before it turned back and disappeared into the shelter of the trees.

Harry approached the iron bars of the gate that encircled the entire property, and he nudged at them with his antlers. He could feel the magic imbibed in the metal, and it refused him entry. He struggled to keep his panic at bay; he knew that he needed to remain calm if he was to figure this out.

He cantered forward and followed the gate until he reached the front of the house. The gate doors were closed, and Harry experimentally reared and pushed against them with his hooves, but they refused to give. How could a clearly magical object not realize that he wasn't any normal deer? The thought that the curse made outside magic incapable of differentiating him from a natural deer was deeply unsettling, and not for the first time, he cursed Snape for doing this to him.

Now very near to actual panic, he ran full tilt the rest of the way around the Manor's gates, and stopped at the horrid gargoyle that had once been a secret entryway. He tried to force his mouth to form a word that would sound something like a human password. Nothing worked. He butted at it, kicked it, but it refused to grant him entry. He ran again, his body beginning to shake slightly under the strain. He forced himself to move, and gasped a little as the resplendent, sprawling grounds of the back gardens came into view, and with it the Beltane celebration.

He could see the guests, mostly people he did not recognize, but he could pick out several Hogwarts alumni in his quick glance over the crowd. With a guilty pang in his stomach, he could see his adoptive parents, and he spotted Lucius and Narcissa, staring open-mouthed at the dance floor. Before he could follow their gazes to see what they were looking at, a sudden familiar voice spoke over the crowd, magically magnified, and it made him freeze in shock and fear.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Draco said, addressing the crowd. Harry could see him clearly, in beautifully tailored green robes, with arm wrapped around Snape-Harry. Snape saw him, and a nasty smile played across his face. He turned himself and Draco slightly, forcing him out of the blond's field of vision. “I have an announcement to make,” Draco continued, completely ignorant to the silent exchange.

_No, no, no, Draco please,_ Harry thought in a panic, as he ran back and forth along the fencing, while he struggled to find a way in. Even the forest that ringed the back of the property would not allow him to pass—invisible barriers bounced him back whenever he got too close. Draco's voice filled the air once more, and Harry felt sick with anguish and fear. 

“I come before you all this evening, to make a Proclamation,” he continued, “a Proclamation of my love and devotion to Harry James Potter.” Polite applause followed the statement; Harry stumbled, and he stared wide-eyed with panic and hurt at Draco, then he kicked at the bars, but it was about as effective as spitting on a forest fire. Even the loud rattling of the iron did not seem to distract the guests. 

_Draco, it's not me,_ Harry thought in a panic,  _you have to know that it's not me!_

“Harry,” Draco said as he turned away from the crowd and clasped both of Snape-Harry's hands in his own. He knelt before him, his eyes wide with earnest intent, while Snape-Harry stared down at him with a muted smile. “I love you. I make this vow before those assembled, as proof of my devotion. I will fight for you, I will protect you. You are my sun and stars, my moon and sky. You are my everything.” 

_Draco, no!_ Harry reared and kicked at the gate with his hooves as hard as he could, and he was forced bodily away from the iron as though he had been thrown. He forced himself up on trembling legs, just as Draco stood and cupped Harry-Snape's face gently in his hands, and pulled him in for a tender kiss.

Harry's legs buckled. The kiss brought with it a physical ache as well as an emotional one. He felt sick, and to his very bones he felt as though he'd been beaten bloody. He could not look back at the celebration, and every movement was agony. He forced himself back up and staggered back towards the forest he had left not ten minutes before.

He could not explain why, exactly, but something compelled him—he needed to get back to the barn.

 

~*~

 

Draco broke the kiss reluctantly, his eyes fluttering open to gaze at Harry; he wasn't sure what would happen, or if it had even worked, but of all the reactions he had expected, he could not have foreseen what Harry did next.

  
He laughed.

  
It was not a genial laugh, but cold and cruel. A laugh that sounded  _wrong_ coming from someone like Harry. Draco felt a tremor run through him; something wasn't right. 

Draco's wide-eyed gaze flitted to Remus and Sirius, but they looked as confused and fearful as he felt.

“Oh, Draco,” Harry said with a purr and a most uncharacteristic smirk, “you really should have paid more attention during your Potions lessons.”

“What are you talking about? What's wrong?” Draco demanded; _what did Potions have to do with anything?_ Draco let go of Harry and stepped back uncertainly, but Harry did not answer his questions, and instead he simply continued to smirk as though he had been the mastermind behind a particularly cruel joke. 

“Can't you tell the difference between truth...and illusions?” Harry asked as his face split into a wide, nasty grin. His hair had begun to slowly lengthen, and went from flyaway and untidy and smoothed into straight black strands; his skin lost its tan and took on a sallow tint; he grew taller, and his nose curved forward in a distinctive hook. 

Snape pulled the round glasses from his face, while what Draco was seeing began to sink in through his numb shock. “The curse will break as you hoped, Mr Malfoy,” he purred, “congratulations, you have killed Harry Potter.” With another nasty laugh he Disapparated, and left Draco standing in the centre of the dance floor alone, and white as a sheet.

 

~*~

 

Harry stumbled, and his breath escaped him in short, shallow gasps. His vision was clear, but refused to make the forest stand still, and it swam before him as though he was gazing at the dark trunks and brush from under several feet of water. How was he supposed to find his way back like this? Every time Harry tried to run, a wave of nausea stopped him short, and he slowed to a staggering trot.

He suddenly felt a hot quadruped body press against his own, and he turned to see the head of a large buck swimming before him. Harry wasn't clear on what exactly was happening, but just as suddenly, he felt his hooves leave the leaf litter and he was draped over the back of the creature. It took off at a run, boxed in by other deer, to keep him from toppling off his back, and the dark forest flew past Harry in a nauseating blur.

Harry closed his eyes, and the wind from the speed at which the creature moved lifted his fine fur slightly. He bounced and jerked on the buck's back, but the other creatures that hugged close to them made sure that he did not slide off. Through the muddle of physical reactions that Harry was experiencing, he knew one thing for certain—he was dying.

Brushes with death were not uncharted territory for Harry, but this time he knew that it was different. Dumbledore wouldn't swoop in at the last minute to save him; Fawkes wasn't there to cry into a wound; there was no Portkey to transport him away from the danger. He wanted to be afraid, but it hurt too much for any emotion to properly register in his mind. He let out a pained keen, and as the noise permeated the still forest night, and he felt the creature that carried him pick up its pace.

Harry couldn't breathe; it felt as though someone had wrapped ropes around his lungs. The constriction was making him feel more and more nauseous, and panic at his inability to catch his breath was making him dizzy. He kept his eyes firmly shut, but he could still feel the wind whipping his big, bulky body as the buck below him streaked through the wood.

Sooner than Harry had expected, the buck slowed to a walk. Harry opened his eyes, his vision still swimming, and his attempts to focus on anything brought with it a fresh wave of nausea. The animal crouched, and Harry slid gently off his back in a heap. Two does pressed to his sides and helped him onto unsteady feet, then urged him forward with gentle nudges.

Harry stumbled, but the creatures were there again to make sure that he didn't fall. He looked back at them, as though to ask _why_ they were helping him, but had no idea how. Harry turned back towards the barn, silo, and surrounding forest that had become his home so recently, and he stumbled forward. 

His movements were slow and jerky, but after a certain point the deer hung back and watched his progression in silence. The entire wood seemed to be holding its breath for Harry—he couldn't hear any rustle of wind through the trees, or the call of an owl...nothing. It was a complete silence Harry had never experienced before, and most strangely, it spurred him forward.

Harry's footsteps were slow and awkward as he struggled to stay standing. Through his haze of pain and sick, he did not even notice the way his body glimmered, the way the the magic swirled around him like a gentle embrace, and his stag form gave way to his natural human body. However, he was too far gone to even realize that he was upright and moving on two legs, not four. He felt the brush of magic of the sanctuary touch his flesh, and his knees buckled as he fell to the ground heavily.

Harry's breath came out in soft gasps, and he wheezed weakly as he struggled to fill his lungs. God, it  _hurt._ Harry had expected his death to be different—perhaps accompanied by flashes of his life passing through his mind, but instead he felt simply a crushing weight of a sorrow that nearly consumed him. The anguish was the only emotion that he could properly register through the pain, and Harry's head spun again; he closed his eyes; sweat trickled from his hair and it stung his eyes. 

Distantly, Harry could hear the distinctive  _crack_ of someone Apparating, the sound of their arrival broke the total silence like a gunshot, and he could even not move enough to flinch at the sudden noise. Heavy footfalls approached him, and Harry felt tears mix with the sweat when the cold hands of his captor brushed the damp hair off his face.

Harry wanted to wrench himself away, push Snape off,  _anything._ He didn't have the energy to even open his eyes, or even shoot a scathing remark at the man. A soft, pained moan whispered past his slightly parted lips, and Snape chuckled softly. 

“It didn't have to come to this Harry,” Snape murmured somewhere above him while he stroked Harry's hair with horrifying tenderness, “if you had only said _yes_ to me, I would have let you live. But your Gryffindor pride is what inevitably killed you, not me, or your...” Snape chuckled, “ _...lover._ ”

Harry had no breath to respond to the biting words, and Snape's cruel laughter escorted him into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Whoops. :D *evil laughter*


	10. Shattered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this like 5 hours ago but I fell asleep. Whoops. I hope you guys enjoy!

Chapter 10 – Shattered

  
Chaos descended.

Guests were crying out exclamations of shock and horror at what they had witnessed, and Lucius and Narcissa were fighting their way through the choking crowd, as they tried to reach their son.

None of the activity around Draco registered with him. He slid to his knees as he stared ahead with wide, horror-struck eyes.

A pair of strong hands gripped Draco's shoulders and dragged him to his feet. Someone was yelling, and his body lurched sharply as he was shaken. What did it matter, Draco wondered in a sort of dazed, anguished shock. He'd killed Harry. Nothing mattered anymore.

“Damn it, Draco, snap out of it!” A voice cried, and he lurched again as he was shaken. Draco blinked, and looked up to see Sirius above him, his eyes wide and angry. Draco blinked slowly; why was Sirius shaking him?

A sharp sting, and Draco's head snapped sideways. It took him a moment for it to register that he'd been slapped. He turned back to face Sirius's angry expression, but felt too numb to offer up a scathing remark.

“Take us to Harry,” he commanded, and Draco frowned.

“What for?” Draco asked miserably; why were they bothering? It was fruitless. 

“Damn it, Draco, just do it!” Sirius cried, “it's not over yet. You _have_ to know that it's not over.” 

Draco glowered at him, but did not bother to voice his disagreement. What good would it do? The man would only continue to hit or shake him until he granted his wish. While he continued to glare at Sirius, he reached out and gripped the man's arm, while Remus grabbed hold of Draco's shoulder. He focused on the edge of his family's property, where he'd found Harry the last time, and he Disapparated with a  _crack_ just as his parents reached them, crying out his name in frightened, anguished voices.

When they arrived at their destination, they promptly fell into a heap amongst the towering trees. Draco felt strangely crowded, and after disentangling himself from the two older wizards, he realized why. An assembly of animals of every kind ringed the magical barrier in a semicircle, predators and prey alike standing together and watching in still silence. Draco turned, and let out a soft, anguished cry. Harry was lying there, his hair soaked with sweat, his skin white as snow, and his lips tinted blue. Snape was nowhere to be seen.

Not waiting to see if Remus and Sirius were all right, he ran forward, his sight blurring as thick tears tumbled from his eyes and streaked his cheeks. Draco fell to his knees at his lover's side.

“ _No, no, no, please..._ ” He lifted Harry's head gently and rested it in his lap. He felt so terribly cold, his skin was clammy, and his body terribly, horrifyingly limp. Draco stroked the dark, damp locks, while his own tears dripped onto Harry's still flesh. “Wake up Harry,” Draco whispered, his voice barely above a choked whisper, “please, please, wake up.” He curled forward, and clung to the body as a fresh wave of grief overwhelmed him.

He felt Sirius and Remus join him, but Draco refused to look up or acknowledge them; he'd killed their son, how could he ever look them in the eye again? Draco felt warm air brush over his skin, a sensation of a gentle spell. Why were they bothering? Harry was dead—Draco had killed him.

“Draco,” Remus's soft voice broke through Draco's haze of anguish and guilt.

“No,” he choked, and clung more tightly to Harry's still form. 

“Draco, please, look at me,” Remus repeated, his voice still soft and patient. Draco shook his head, and shuddered as he fisted the faded, tattered robes that Harry was dressed in. Hands grabbed him then, and they felt incredibly hot in contrast to Harry's cold flesh.

“ _No,_ ” he wailed as he struggled against Sirius, fresh tears joining their fellows upon his cheeks. The man forced Draco's gaze away from his lover, and still Draco struggled. He had to get back to Harry. He _needed_ him. 

“Draco, _listen_ ,” Sirius said so fiercely that he actually gave pause, and looked at the man. Sirius's face was white and his eyes were wide and fearful, but he was a great deal more composed than Draco was, which startled him. “Harry isn't dead.”

“ _What_? But...but...he's cold...” Draco trailed off as his mind scrambled to recall the mountains of source material that they had dug through during their time at Grimmauld Place. His mind seemed to have created a mental block, and he could not understand how or why Harry could still be alive.

“He will be soon, though,” Remus said grimly, his entire form exuding tense anxiety. “He is holding on by a thread.” Sirius finally released Draco, and the three of them sunk to their knees, circling the young man. Draco felt fresh tears slide down his cheeks, and he extended a trembling hand, smoothing the untidy black hair away from his eyes. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Please wake up, Harry,” he whispered, his voice hitching as he tried to compose himself, to little effect. Sirius and Remus had each taken one of Harry's hands, looking on helplessly, their expressions riddled with guilt and grief. “Harry?” His voice caught again, and behind him, he heard a dark laugh that caused all three of them to whip their gazes around.

“Oh how it must _hurt,”_ Snape sneered as he watched the scene with something close to glee in his eyes. He pulled out a wand— _Harry's_ wand, Draco realized—and caressed it lightly. Rage replaced Draco's anguish, while Snape's gaze never left him. 

He and stood and forced himself to remain focused on his former Head of House, and glared at him with a look of utmost loathing.

“Shall I put you out of your misery, Mr Malfoy?” Snape asked, “or should we start with the canines?” He chuckled, but a quick flick of the wand in his hand knocked Sirius backward, who at that same moment had stood and moved to draw his own wand. Sirius grunted in pain, and returned to Harry's side, shaking a little from the aftereffects of whatever curse Snape had hit him with. Remus reached towards him, but Sirius shook him off, refocusing his angry gaze on Snape.

“Sit and stay, there's a good boy,” Snape taunted, “your death is _long_ overdue Black, but first allow me to deal with... _the lover_.” He sneered the word, as though the idea of Draco being anything to Harry was laughable. Draco drew his wand and clutched it tightly while he swallowed his fear, well aware that Snape was known for being an accomplished Duellist. Did he really have a chance of coming out of this alive? Draco's heart thundered in his chest. Behind him, he heard a sharp rustling noise, and the faint hiss that he recognized as Remus's voice. He did not need to see them to know that Remus was trying to keep Sirius from rushing at Snape.

“You mean to duel me, _boy_?” Snape sneered, and the jibe made Draco's stomach clench. He felt almost sick with fear, and as Snape leered at him, he could feel his mask of feigned bravery beginning to crumble. He cast a brief glance back to the still form of Harry; it filled him with a surge of anger and desire for justice. Snape needed to pay. He refocused his glare upon the older man. Something in his expression made Snape laugh again. The sound made Draco feel very small, but he refused to let his intimidation show. Without warning, Snape struck.

The severing charm just barely missed, and Draco hissed sharply in surprise and pain when he felt it skin his cheek as it shot past. His brief gratefulness for his ingrained Seeker instincts were short-lived as he heard the groan of a large tree behind him begin to give way.

Draco spun on the spot, and his eyes widened with horror as a large oak began to tip forward—straight for Harry and his parents. Horror-struck, he lifted his wand, but had no idea what he could do. It was too big for him to transfigure, and he had no idea if a Banishing Charm would be strong enough to stop it.

“First mistake, Mr Malfoy!” Snape cried, and a burning pain hit Draco squarely in the centre of his back. He choked, and spat up a mouthful blood as he fell onto all fours, while Snape continued to jeer at him, “never take your eyes off your enemy!” Draco cried out a second time as the curse hit him again, and he gagged on the cloying, coppery taste in his mouth. 

Draco lifted a trembling hand, knuckled white around the hawthorn wand, but at that moment, it felt as though it held the same usefulness as an ordinary stick. Shaking, he watched as two streams of light engulfed the falling tree, and it transfigured as smoothly and easily as blinking. The wood shavings and leaves fluttered to the ground like snow.

“Go!” Remus shouted as he lowered his wand from where the tree had been, while he and Sirius boxed Harry in, to protect him from further harm. Draco didn't verbally respond, but instead turned and pulled himself up on trembling limbs, and stared down his enemy. The blood in his mouth made it feel as though his lips had been glued together, and his stomach continued to somersault in fear. He lifted his wand again and flicked it, but his curse was deflected so easily Draco felt a wave of panicked nausea nearly over whelm him. This seemed hopeless. 

“Do you understand yet, Mr Malfoy?” Snape sneered, “you are a but a wailing child compared to me. You _cannot_ win. Continue down this path, and you will end up as dead as your lover.” He spat the last word like a curse, but the reference to Harry spurred Draco forward, and he slashed his wand through the air. The charm was deflected again, but this time it came straight back at him. Only Draco's swift movements stopped it from slicing him in two. Staggering up he saw Snape flick Harry's wand almost lazily, and he transfigured a nearby boulder into a dozen small but deadly-sharp daggers. They flew threw the air without pause and headed straight for Draco.

Draco reacted more swiftly than he had thus far, and caught the weapons with a charm. They moulded into one long sword, then clattered to the ground near his feet. Draco dropped down to grab it with his free hand, and not a moment too soon as he felt the tug of a summoning charm, but he managed to hold fast to the weapon. Draco could feel himself shaking from the effort to stay standing—whatever curse Snape had hit him with earlier was still agonizingly painful, but he refused to let the man win. He  _refused_ to let Harry's killer walk away from this. 

Something in Draco's stance seemed to amuse Snape, as he threw back his head and barked a laugh. “You mean to kill me Mr Malfoy? You can barely stand!”

As if to prove a point, he slashed the wand in a great, sweeping arc, and a jet of blue light shot towards him. It tore through Draco's Shield Charm as though it was merely a soap bubble, and he cried out, his knees buckling as the curse sunk into his shoulder.

“Draco!” He heard Sirius call his name, but he knew it would be foolish to lose sight of Snape. He heard Remus murmur something, but he could not catch it. His arm hung uselessly at his side, the shoulder dislocated by the curse, and the sword clattered to the ground. Draco struggled to keep his mind focused through the pain, and he moved to stand, but gasped from the near-overwhelming pain as his legs refused to support him. 

Another curse hit him before he could move to defend himself, and he choked over the pain as thick gashes blossomed upon his chest, leaving his clothing in tact and shredding the skin beneath, and it stained his robes a deep, dark red. The pain was blinding, and he coughed, his phlegm coming out red upon the ground before him. Draco tried to stand, but the pain, the blood loss, and the trauma of losing Harry was too much.

  
He couldn't do it.

 

He couldn't save Harry; he couldn't avenge him. Defeated tears stung Draco's eyes, but he barely noticed them over the painful thrum of his other injuries.

The soft crunch of leaf litter was the only indication that Snape had stepped forward. Draco looked up, his vision swimming, blinded by tears and dizzy from the blood loss. His palms pressed into the hard ground, and he felt cold steel brush his fingertips.  _The Sword._

“Did you think you ever stood a chance against the likes of _me_?” Snape purred softly as his cold fingers brushed Draco's chin, and he shuddered. Those hands had hurt Harry, over and over, for years. “You never did. You will die a pathetic, forgettable death, and no one will care to remember you.” His black eyes glittered ominously, “and when I finish with you...” his eyes flicked towards Remus and Sirius before they refocused on Draco. He chuckled, while Draco curled his fingers around the hilt of the sword at his feet. Snape's fingers continued to hold onto Draco's chin, and he stared down at him almost hungrily, as though he desired nothing more than to see Draco suffer.

“Are you ready to join your lover?” Snape purred the words while he caressed Draco's chin with an unsettling tenderness. Draco shivered, but refused to turn his gaze away. He didn't know what to say, and inside he felt cold. He needed to act, and _soon._ He could already feel his strength beginning to ebb. 

Draco took a deep, shuddering breath as he stared back at Snape, and refused to give the man the satisfaction of showing how weak he felt, both physically and mentally. Snape inched closer, and Draco saw the opening that he was looking for.

“Say hello to the Dark Lord for me,” Draco growled, and Snape's brow furrowed in confusion. Fuelled by a sudden burst of adrenaline, he lifted the sword and plunged it deeply into the man's chest. As if the Fates approved of his actions, the blade slid smoothly between the ribs and directly into the organ he sought. He could feel the weapon jar as it sliced through muscle and tendon, and the man above him froze. 

Snape's eyes bulged, his mouth open in a perfect 'o' of shock, and Draco could see blood in his mouth. The whole forest seemed to still, and watched the fall of Harry's tormentor as he sunk to the ground, motionless. All the air seemed to rush back into Draco's lungs as the man keeled over, and he watched dark blood begin to pool beneath his limp form.

Silence fell once more, and Draco felt very cold despite the warmth in the air. He turned back to Remus and Sirius, unsure why he didn't feel happier—Snape was gone; Harry was free.

Draco crawled forward and pried the holly wand from the dead man's grasp, then slipped it inside his robes. He felt strangely warm, despite the hollow despair that refused to leave him. He tried to stand, but staggered and fell with a gasp of pain. In a moment Sirius was there, and looped an arm around his shoulders. He helped Draco stagger to the still form of Harry, and a fresh wave of guilt-ridden nausea washed over him.

Despite Sirius's careful movements, it was still agonizingly painful to move. Draco's breath hitched, and he grimaced as he lurched forward over to where Remus waited. Draco sunk to the ground near Harry's head, his own breath coming out shallowly. He felt as though he couldn't properly catch his breath. Sirius sat down and took one of Harry's hands. He looked as hollow as Draco felt.

Draco reached out a trembling hand—Harry was so pale; dark, bruising circles rested below his eyes, and the blue tint of his lips seemed to be more pronounced. Draco's breath caught in his throat, and a strangled sob tumbled out of his mouth. Tear tracks cut through the blood and grime upon his face; for all his effort, Harry was still gone.

Draco lifted his good arm, and brushed his fingers lightly through the untidy hair. Neither Sirius or Remus spoke, and the three of them stared down at the boy between them. Years of their lives had been devoted to finding Harry and bringing him home safe, and suddenly Draco felt as though it was all for nothing—Harry was still lost to them. A single tear dripped from Draco's chin and landed softly upon Harry's cheek.

On either side of him, Draco was only vaguely aware of Sirius and Remus's presence. He felt as though he'd failed them by letting Harry die. He could see Remus trembling slightly in his peripheral vision, and Sirius's wet, hitching breaths filled the silence as he fought to control himself. Draco reached out a tentative hand, and slid it from Harry's hair to trace the contours of his face with his thumb. He ignored his own pain; it felt dulled somewhat by his grief. Draco leant forward, tears still streaming down his cheeks, and he placed a gentle kiss upon Harry's forehead.

Suddenly, Harry's breath hitched, and his mourning loved ones all lurched back in shock. They exchanged confused, but hopeful looks, then shifted their gazes back to Harry. His chest was rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. His head turned to the side of its own accord, and Harry coughed wetly. He went still again, and Draco tensed.

“Harry?” he asked tentatively. His hands trembled as he reached out to touch him, but Harry's skin still felt cold, but less like ice and more like he had been out too long on a winter day. Sirius and Remus drew in on either side of him, looking down at Harry with wide-eyed fear and hope. Could he really be waking up? Draco could feel Remus and Sirius on either side of him, all three of them holding their breath as they watched Harry.

Ever so slowly, Harry's eyelids quivered before they finally slid open. His eyes were hazy, as though someone had stretched a thin grey film over them. He blinked hard several times, while his gaze flitted from Remus, to Draco, to Sirius, and back again. It was as though he could not believe what he was seeing. As his eyes began to clear, the look of confusion became more pronounced, and almost fearful. He looked at Draco, as though searching for confirmation that he was not, in fact, dead. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Draco?” Harry's voice was low and hoarse, and he coughed a few times following his words. “Sirius? Remus?”

“We're here,” Sirius said softly, squeezing the hand that he held. Harry still looked fearful, as though he still could not believe his eyes. He kept looking from one face to the next, then he would squeeze his eyes shut before opening them again, as though trying to convince himself that he was not hallucinating.

“What happened?” he asked weakly, “where am I?” His eyes widened as he took in the sight of Draco, and guilt overshadowed the fright. “You're hurt,” He turned his head and coughed again, but his voice was still a quiet rasp. 

“I'm okay, really,” Draco reassured him while he forced a smile, and he ran his thumb gently across Harry's cheek. The reassurance did not seem to fully placate him, as Harry still stared up at him with a guilt-stricken expression. 

After a few moments of silence, Harry shifted his gaze to his adoptive parents, and his eyes glazed over. First he looked to Sirius, then to Remus, his eyes darting back and forth, but his head never moved. Draco watched him uncertainly.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered and his voice broke as a single tear trickled down his cheek.

Draco shifted back, masking the grimace of pain as best he could as the pair lurched forward and embraced Harry. Harry clung back to them, and even from where Draco sat, he could hear the short gasps of Harry trying to keep himself from crying. He watched the scene, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips.

Sirius and Remus had been waiting for this moment for a very, very long time, and it made Draco's heart swell with joy as he watched it. Remus and Sirius were crying, Harry was shaking as though he was trying to retain his composure, and Draco's faint smile stretched into a wider, joyful smile.

“You're going to be okay, Harry,” Sirius whispered softly, “we're going home.”

They stood slowly, almost reluctantly, and Harry moved to follow. He fell back with a sharp gasp, and winced at his head knocked lightly against the ground. Panicked, Draco hurried the handful of paces to Harry, but he stumbled and fell, a similar gasp of pain escaping him as his grievous injuries seemed to come back to him in full measure. He groaned and clutched at his bloodied robes, remembering all too suddenly that Snape had all but cut him to ribbons.

His vision was hazy from the blood loss, and he looked up to Remus and Sirius. They had a slightly warped looked to them, as though Draco was observing them from beneath a lake.

“It's okay, Draco,” Sirius said, and his voice sounded strangely off in Draco's ears, though he could not place why, “rest now, we'll get you home.” 

Draco did not argue, but lay down next to Harry and they gazed at one another with the same exhausted look while they shared a weak smile. Draco reached forward and grasped Harry's hand gently. Harry shifted his fingers to lace them with Draco's, and his eyes fluttered shut. Draco followed suit, and the small, joyful smile never left his face.

No matter what happened now, Draco knew that everything would really, truly be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: (end) I REALLY DIDN'T WANT TO DO THAT BECAUSE SNAPE IS MY FAVE but it made the most sense plot-wise(Also those of you familiar with this fairy story know that this follows the canon of that, so...) This took forever to write because I didn't want to write that scene, and my wonderfully patient friends got a plethora of stupid text messages about it while I was writing it. (like “Swiggity swab he got stabbed” and “Draco's gonna scratch his back from the front”)


	11. Life Less Frightening

Chapter 11 – Life Less Frightening

  
Though Draco was in a considerable amount of pain, he had things to do.

Draco in Harry's magically stretched out bed, Harry curled up next to him, unconscious, but safe. Draco was propped up at his side with a self-inking quill and a small scroll of parchment. Hedwig was perched expectantly upon Draco's knee, and her round, amber eyes never left Harry's still form. Using an old book as a makeshift desk, Draco drafted a short note.

 

_I owe you the biggest, 'I told you so,' ever._

  
Draco clucked his tongue, and Hedwig refocused her gaze on him. He folded up and addressed the note, and held it out to her apprehensively.

“Could you take this to Ron and Hermione Weasley-Granger?” he asked the bird, and Hedwig clicked her beak, eyeing him for a moment with a look that Draco could not completely identify, then plucked the parchment from his fingers and took off through Harry's open window. Draco watched her disappear into the night with a self-satisfied smirk, then eased back into the pillows, and winced in pain, despite his effort to move as little as possible.

Draco would have  _liked_ to have gone straight to St. Mungo's, but in hindsight he realized how bad of an idea that would have been. 

“ _There'd be a press firestorm,” Sirius had told him patiently as he settled Harry and Draco into the overlarge bed earlier, “I'm fairly certain Harry isn't ready for so much media attention. With what happened at the Ball, everyone will know that Severus had done something to Harry—and you. We'll try to keep this quiet for as long as we can.”_

Draco was too exhausted to argue, and while Sirius drafted a letter to his parents, assuring them that he was alive, Remus had contacted the Hogwarts Matron.

“What dangerous activity was he doing _this_ time?” she sniped the moment she had bustled into the room, and began to look Harry over. Draco scowled at her, but the small quiver of a smile told him she was just as pleased about Harry's reappearance as they were. Draco was still only roughly patched up by Sirius, and had refused treatment until after Madam Pomfrey had tended to Harry. Her wand twitched in her hand, muttering as she peeled back his eyelids, looked in his mouth, and checked his pulse. 

Watching her now, in the warmth and out of the dark, had it not been for the near-agonizing pain lancing through his body with every small movement, Draco felt as though the entire thing could have been a dream.

The fingers that had held the sword earlier twitched, and Draco shivered a little. The look of the light fading from Snape's eyes had freed Harry, but Draco still felt sickened with himself that he had been forced into taking a life. He had known of people (the Dark Lord being the first to come to mind) who drew power and strength from murder, but the memory of it made Draco feel dirty.

Draco shook his head a little to he draw himself out of the immediate past, and he focused his attention on Madam Pomfrey, who was still awaiting an answer.

“He was cursed, then the curse, or...or something, it almost killed him,” Draco explained feebly, and by the look she shot at him, it was fairly obvious that he was not the first one to offer her such a vague explanation. Draco did not like keeping her in the dark, but the fact of the matter was that it was a curse that drew power from words—from sentiment. Draco, as well as Sirius and Remus, felt that the less they directly reference the specific curse in question, the better. Madam Pomfrey turned back to her patient, and tutted under her breath as she flicked her wand here and there, while she muttered about foolhardy Gryffindors and arrogant Slytherins. 

“Harry will be fine, Mr Malfoy,” Madam Pomfrey said a few minutes later as she straightened up, “whatever curse that was laid upon him is completely gone.” She paused and frowned a little as she looked down at Harry. “But, the strain it put on his mind and body was immense. I'm putting him in a magically-induced comatose state, and this will give him time to heal without interruptions.” She eyed him, but when he did not speak, she pressed on. “The coma will last seven days, and he should wake naturally following that. Try to keep from disturbing him too much. When he wakes, he will still be quite weak. I suggest you curb any...” she cleared her throat, “... _strenuous_ activity until after he fully recovers.” 

Draco felt himself go a little red at her implication, but he nodded without protest.

His own checkup under her skilled hand was far less unpleasant than he had expected it to be, and after he took a number of potions to help heal his internal damage, a salve was massaged onto his external wounds, his bandages were changed, and he already felt significantly better.

“Make sure you remember to take this potion every twelve hours, Mr Malfoy,” she said while she motioned to several vials of thin, honey-coloured liquid that she had left on the bedside table. He nodded mutely, and she offered him a small smile smile, “do tell Mr Potter how wonderful it is to have him back when he wakes.” 

“I will, Madam Pomfrey,” Draco replied with a small smile of his own, “and...thank you.”

She nodded, then faltered for a moment before she pulled out a small, round bottle and set it on the table next to the other potions. He recognized the thick, violet liquid that the bottle contained at once at once as Dreamless Sleep potion.

“I do not want to hear of you abusing this, Mr Malfoy,” she warned while eyed him, as though debating whether or not it was wise to leave the second potion with him. “You both have been through a terrible ordeal, but do not use this as a means of escape. Do I make myself clear?” Her tone left no room for argument. Silently, he nodded.

The Matron reached out and touched his shoulder gently, while being careful to avoid his injuries. “Get some rest,” she said while she smiled a little, and Draco found himself returning it. It was so good to be home, he felt as though nothing could tarnish his good mood.

Madam Pomfrey pulled back her hand and turned to leave, while Draco eased down into the warm folds of the duvet, and shifted closer to Harry. He twined his fingers with those of his unconscious lover, Draco was asleep almost at once.

 

~*~

 

“How are they looking, Poppy?” Remus asked while stepped forward nervously, and Sirius hung back with his arms crossed. He didn't trust himself to speak, at least not yet. He could still feel the aftereffects of the evening's events running through him—anguish, fear, and relief. He was completely exhausted, and he feared that in this state he might accidentally the wrong thing. They'd only just gotten Harry back, and he wasn't about to muck it up by blurting out too much information in his worn out state.

“They're both exhausted,” Poppy replied, “Harry must have been through quite the ordeal.” She eyed them both when neither man filled in the blanks that their earlier explanation had left. “It would be helpful if you two _told_ me what curse Harry was put under, but as it is, there will be no permanent bodily harm. As for his mind...” she trailed off while her mouth pulled into a frown. “Whatever he went through, it may be some time before he is entirely himself again, and you must be patient with him. The residual magical energy tells me that it was something akin to a love spell, and that means it can be a safe assumption that he was assaulted in some form. Be _very_ cautious about touching him without his consent. I do not know the extent of the damage he suffered, but all the same...” she trailed off with a frown, “be careful.”

“I trust you won't tell anyone of Harry's return?” Remus asked, and to his words, she smiled faintly.

“Mr Potter is my patient. I would never betray his trust like that,” she replied, and Sirius felt his shoulders sag a little in relief. Though he never expected Poppy to go running to the press, it was still comforting to hear. “In the case of Mr Malfoy,” she continued, “he is more physically damaged than I think he realizes. The curse that caused his internal bleeding is forcing the injuries to stay open, but the potion that I have given him is slowly reversing the effects. Make _sure_ he takes it every twelve hours. Provided he does not miss any doses, he will make a full recovery.” She stepped towards their fireplace and helped herself to a pinch of their Floo powder. “Do give Lucius and Narcissa my regards,” she said by way of goodbye, and in an instant she disappeared in a whirl of green flame.

Sirius felt himself relax a little as she departed, and he stepped towards Harry's door. Inside, he could see the boys, fast asleep, hand in hand. Harry was still, almost corpse-like, and his chest rising and falling in a regular rhythm was the only indication that he was not, in fact, dead. Draco was curled on his side, and pressed as close to Harry as he could, without crowding him.

The sight made Sirius's heart swell, and he closed the door quietly before he went to rejoin Remus. The werewolf looked as tired as he felt, but was still able to offer his husband a small, warm smile.

“How are they?” Remus asked as Sirius twined his fingers with Remus's when he was close enough to reach him. Remus led him to the sofa, and Sirius all but fell into it.

“It's like Madam Pomfrey said,” he replied while he tugged on Remus's hand until he sat next to him. “They're completely exhausted.” Sirius leant his head back against the well worn upholstery, and he felt as though he could happily sleep for ten years. 

As they sat there, Sirius's thoughts strayed back to the evenings events. It had happened barely four hours ago, but already it felt like a nightmare that they were all finally waking up from. The sight of Draco killing another, even one as twisted as Snape was still burned into his mind, and he was certain that the young man was much more traumatized by the act than he was letting on. Sirius stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

An arm slipped around Sirius's waist and jarred him from his memories as Remus pulled him close. He pressed his head into the werewolf's shoulder with a relaxed sigh. How long had it been since they'd been close like this, with no fog of misery obstructing them? It felt longer than five years.

The arm around his waist travelled up to his shoulders, and Remus began to absently toy with his hair, though his gaze was still trained upon the crackling fire in the grate. His intense look told Sirius that he, too, was going over the evening's sequence of events. Remus continued to absently toy with Sirius's hair while they sat there, and the gentle touches made Sirius feel as though he could melt into the sofa—he couldn't remember the last time that he had felt so relaxed.

“It doesn't feel over,” Sirius muttered after a few long minutes of silence, with Remus's fingers still twisted in his dark locks. Remus's gaze had not left the fire, though following his words Sirius saw him glance briefly towards Harry's bedroom door, then back to the grate. 

“Aftershock,” Remus replied, “when Harry and Draco are up and about, you may feel differently.”

“I suppose,” Sirius said while frowned a little, then changed the subject. “What did you tell Lucius?”

“Mostly? _I told you so,_ ” Remus replied while he chuckled to himself, and Sirius snorted. “No, I said that Draco was badly injured but tended to, and on the mend. And that they could visit Draco tomorrow, because they're both—” 

At that moment, his words were cut short as their fireplace flared green, and Lucius and Narcissa tumbled out of the grate and onto their rug, and Sirius and Remus jumped to their feet in surprise.

“Where's Draco?” Narcissa demanded the moment she had stood up, her eyes wide and fearful, “what _happened_?” Her voice was getting close to hysterical, and Sirius exchanged a worried look with Remus. The last thing they wanted was for her high, panicked voice to wake Draco—he needed to rest. “ _Where is my son?_ ” she demanded again while she strode forward, not even waiting for Lucius to properly compose himself while she interrogated the pair and drew her wand on her cousin. Sirius threw up his hands in surprise, and he exchanged an nervous look with Remus.

“He's fine, Narcissa,” Remus said patiently, resting a hand on her arm and drawing her out of her panic-induced haze. Her eyes snapped to him; his placid, gentle expression did not falter, nor did her fear and anger dissolve at his words. “He and Harry have been through a terrible ordeal. They're both resting.”

“I want to see my son,” she snapped while she glared at Remus, all but daring him to contradict her. When nobody moved, she snarled, “ _now_.” 

Remus hesitated, then with a brief glance towards Sirius and a defeated shrug, he escorted the Malfoys to Harry's room. Sirius watched them go with a frown, and summoned a pot of tea, cups, and biscuits from the kitchen while he waited for them to return. In his exhausted state, he didn't trust himself to conjure a platter like Remus's.

Distantly, he could hear the low thrum of Remus's voice, and the responding distraught tones of Narcissa and Lucius. He should have known better than to assume that they'd wait until morning to see Draco, and while he did not like the Malfoys on the best of days, their love for their only child was endearing. He smiled a little while he waited for them.

When Remus returned with Lucius and Narcissa in tow, they both looked distinctly ashen-faced. Remus and Sirius pressed them down into the free armchairs, and forced cups of strong tea into their hands—Narcissa's spiked with a large dose of firewhisky. The couple were very quiet, and they were both staring down into their beverages in a state of numb shock. Sirius couldn't exactly blame them, it was difficult for everyone to see the two young men they'd watched grow up look so grievously injured.

“What happened to them?” it was Lucius who spoke first. His eyes were wide and more fearful than Sirius could ever recall seeing them, and it was an unsettling sight to see. For a moment, neither Sirius nor Remus spoke—not telling Poppy was one thing, but Sirius knew that avoiding the truth with the Malfoys was absolutely not an option.

Punctuating their words with forcing more food and drink on the couple, the whole story came out. Harry being kidnapped by Snape, Draco finding him a handful of weeks earlier while out hunting with Lucius, their research about the curse, and the subsequent near-disaster of almost losing Harry for a second time. Remus finished the story when Sirius's voice decided to fail him—the images of Harry, so near death filled Sirius's mind's eye, and he felt a fresh wave of nauseous fear wash over him as he remembered that he had almost lost him—lost them both. They had been cautious to not name the curse in question, nor detail its effects. Perhaps they were being overly cautious, but Sirius had no desire to tempt the Fates, and risk losing Harry again.

“Your son was very brave,” Remus said as the story wound down, “he would not back down from Severus, and refused to give up or flee. If it wasn't for him, I doubt Harry would be with us now.” He paused, and exchanged a look with Sirius.

“He was very badly hurt,” Sirius added, while he resisted the urge to go into too much detail. The Malfoys may still be some of Sirius's least favourite people, but he could not bring himself to share more than he thought that they could presently handle. As it was, Narcissa still looked close to tears, and Lucius had donned a cold, expressionless visage that Sirius rarely saw, though he recognized it as the man's way of coping with such a deep, emotional blow. “We contacted Poppy Pomfrey, and she patched the boys up. Draco will be fine, he just needs rest—they both do.”

“Erm,” Remus began, and exchanged a look with Sirius, as if asking permission for something. Sirius cocked a brow. What was Remus hinting at? “You can stay here if you like, until Draco wakes?”

“We appreciate the offer,” Lucius said with stiff, forced politeness, “but we would prefer that you contact us when he wakes.” He stood and pulled a reluctant Narcissa with him. Remus flared his nostrils in anger, but Sirius had to bite back a laugh. Was their home so decrepit that Lucius _really_ couldn't bear to stay in it for _one_ night? “I will have our house elf bring over some of Draco's things. I assume he will be reluctant to leave Mr Potter's side.”

“That would be putting it mildly,” Sirius replied with a small smirk. 

Fifteen minutes later, Sirius and Remus watched the couple disappear into the Floo, and they exchanged a look.

“Well, that went much better than I expected it would,” Sirius said while he sat back down on the sofa and dragged Remus with him. Remus all but fell into his lap, and chuckling softly at Sirius's antics. It was a sound that sent a thrill of warmth through Sirius; his family was reunited, and he felt as though nothing could have made him happier in that moment.

 

Except...

  
Something about the mischievous glint in Remus's eye made him grin. It was look Sirius hadn't seen in a very long time, and it made him wonder if it was possible for his evening to get even  _better._

Remus reached forward, twisted his fingers into Sirius's hair, and he pulled his bonded in for a kiss, one with a passion and demand that had all but been forgotten in the last five years. Sirius could barely contain his groan of desire.

“Come on,” Remus murmured, and tugged Sirius in the general direction of their bedroom, “let's have ourselves a _real_ celebration.”

Grinning, Sirius allowed himself to be led away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wolfstar shippers, don't get your hopes up. I seem to have a mental block when it comes to wolfstar intimacy. There won't be any smut scene next chapter. I did try, but my brain seems to be incapable of doing the thing properly. So apologies for the vagueness and stuff. I know this is technically a spoiler, but I just don't want you guys getting too disappointed when I post the next chapter so, uh, yeah.


	12. Reintroductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter contains some graphic-ish gore. You have been warned.

Chapter 12 – Reintroductions

  
_Knock, knock_

  
Sirius groaned. He felt sticky and warm, but in the best possible way. Remus was draped casually on top of him, dead to the world, and their limbs were a tangled, comfortable mess. Sirius lifted his head a few scant millimetres off the pillow, before he flopped it back down. He could feel cool air against his bare skin, and it seemed that somewhere along the way, their bedcovers had been knocked off—not that Sirius was complaining. He hadn't felt so good, so complete, in a very long time.

  
_Knock, knock_

  
Before Sirius could even properly rouse himself and respond to the sound, he heard their door creak open with Draco's voice accompanying it.

“Sirius, I was just wondering— _oh good Gods!_ ” he cried, and the door slammed loudly. Sirius heard the heavy footfalls of the young man hurry down the hall faster than was probably wise, given his injuries. 

  
Remus groaned and stirred.

  
“Where's the cannon?” he mumbled sleepily while Sirius reluctantly untangled himself from his bonded, his mouth twitching at the corner into a small smirk. 

“I think we may have scarred our future son-in-law for life, but don't worry about it,” Sirius replied while he rested a hand on the back of Remus's neck and kissed his temple lightly. In an instant, the werewolf was out again. Still snickering to himself, Sirius pulled on a pair of drawstring pyjama bottoms and a maroon muggle T-shirt before he padded out into the hall and poked his head into Harry's room. 

Draco was so red that it looked as though his flush might ignite his hair.

“You were wondering something, Draco?” Sirius asked innocently, and he couldn't completely erase the grin from his face when the bandaged youth's flush only deepened. Sirius glanced to the side table, and the sight of the potions reminded him of the matron's warnings from the night before.

“Did you take your potion?” he asked, “Madam Pomfrey will have my guts for garters if you miss a dose.” Draco nodded mutely, but he was still rather red. He eased back into the bed next to Harry and took his hand. The faint perspiration upon Draco's forehead indicated how much the little outburst had affected him, and some of Sirius's good humour immediately faded. 

“I—I was just was wondering if my parents had been by?” Draco asked; he was looking anywhere but at Sirius. Had the boy's tone been anything but a combination of despondency and absolute mortification, Sirius might have laughed at how embarrassed the young man was. “I found that when I woke up,” he explained while he motioned towards a large suitcase at the foot of the bed, his initials in silver indented on the side. It looked as though hadn't touched it.

“They came by last night,” Sirius replied, frowning a little at the look on Draco's face. “They were almost beside themselves with worry. They promised to come back today and see you.” Draco nodded faintly at Sirius's words, but didn't respond. He looked as though he did not entirely believe what he was being told.

“Draco, the only reason we didn't wake you to see them last night was because you needed your rest,” Sirius explained, “you were in no condition for visitors. They _will_ be back.” Something in his tone seemed to cheer Draco, and he finally turned to look at Sirius and nodded slightly, a small smile playing across his lips.

“Oh, here,” he picked up a stirring spoon off the night table and handed it to Sirius. He blinked.

“And what's this for?”

“For you to gouge my eyes out,” Draco replied while he smirked a little, and Sirius laughed.

 

~*~

 

_Draco was running through the forest._

 

_How had he gotten here?_

 

_He couldn't remember._

 

_He looked down at his hands, and he realized that he was carrying a bloody sword in one hand, and his wand in the other. Before he had a chance to fathom where he had gotten a_ sword,  _he felt himself collide with something solid. He didn't fall, because something cold had gripped him tightly by the shoulders._

  
_Draco looked up and saw Severus Snape._

  
_The skin of his face had rotted away on one side, and Draco could see the rounded edge of his eye, the and white bone of his skull and jaw. The dead eyes blazed with hatred._

_Horrified and disgusted, Draco tried to look away, only to realize that the sword had plunged into the man's chest. The dead man's blood stained Draco's skin, and he cried out as he tried to lurch away._

“ _Congratulations,” the gurgling, dead voice hissed in his ear, “you are a murderer.” Draco screamed._

 

“Draco, _Draco!_ ” 

He thrashed; someone was grabbing onto him, and Draco twisted as he tried desperately to get away.

“Draco, please! Calm down!” The voice cried, as the blankets twisted around him, inhibiting Draco's movements and making his panic even worse. He felt his breath hitch as he bucked and tried to throw the person off. “Draco, it's me, Remus! I'm not going to hurt you.” The voice was calmer, and through the fog of his terror, he realized that it _was_ Remus, and he wasn't in a forest, but in a warm bed. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

“Remus?” Draco croaked, and shook his head a few times, and realized suddenly that he was drenched in cold sweat and he was trembling. “What—what happened?”

“You were having a nightmare,” Remus explained with a small frown as he looked down at him. Draco followed the older man's gaze and felt the bile rise in his throat. He had torn open more than one of his flesh wounds, and the pyjama top was dotted red. Draco tilted his head back and took several deep breaths, but the nauseated panic did not fade. Without a word, Remus took away the shirt, redressed the injuries with a more expert hand than Sirius had, and handed the top back to him after cleaning it with a simple cleaning charm. Draco pulled it on without a word, and grimaced a little with pain as he moved, but it wasn't enough to cause any further damage. 

Once he had settled back into the bed, Remus pressed a vial of potion into his hand. He accepted it and tossed it back without comment.

“I didn't want to wake you,” he explained after Draco had handed back the empty vessel, “but your parents are here to see you.” The news did not surprise him, but it filled him with a strange sense of apprehension. He had not seen his mother or father since before The Forest. Were they cross with him? He didn't know what to expect. All the same, they were his parents, and he wasn't about to turn them away. Draco reached out and grasped Harry's hand gently; the contact strengthened his resolve, and washed away some of his apprehension. He looked back to Remus and nodded silently.

Remus stood and walked to the door, opening it as he said, “he's ready to see you now.”

From Draco's place in the bed, he couldn't see Lucius or Narcissa outside, and Remus opened the door wider, while he conjured two chairs near to the bedside with a quick flick of his wand before he slipped out, and his parents stepped inside. Draco sucked the left side of his lower lip into his mouth and held it between his teeth nervously; he had no idea how he looked, but he had a feeling it must have been fairly bad, given that he had woken up not thirty seconds earlier. This assumption was validated by his mother at once, as she clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a small, anguished cry and she hurried forward to sit on his bedside, the chairs Remus had left completely ignored.

Lucius followed more slowly, his wide eyes the only indication to Draco that he was feeling anything at all while he regarded at his bedridden son. He sat down slowly on one of the provided chairs, his cool and collected demeanour a stark contrast to his wife's distraught one.

“Oh, Draco, what happened to you?” she asked; she looked close to tears as she reached forward and brushed her fingers over his forehead, one of the few places that he was mostly unharmed. Even so, he flinched away from her touch. The aftereffects of his nightmare seemed to cling to him like an ink stain, and the sudden contact made his stomach roil. Narcissa retracted her hand quickly, though he didn't have it in him to feel guilty at her wounded expression. “Lupin and Black told us, of course, but...” she trailed off, frowning. Draco didn't know what to say. Did she think that Sirius and Remus had lied?

“Snape, he...” Draco began, and his voice caught in his throat. The images of his nightmare came back to him and he shivered as bile rose in his throat, and he struggled to keep himself from being sick. “I—” he tried again, but his voice refused to cooperate. He let go of Harry and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders trembled as he struggled to reign in his emotions. Despite his best efforts, he felt tears sting his eyes. “I k-killed him. Gods, I _killed_ someone.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt the smallest twinge of shame at falling to pieces in front of them, but the feeling was very brief—he was too overwhelmed to even consider trying to keep himself composed at the moment. “H-he...I _killed_ him,” Draco repeated for the third time, “I-I'm going to go to Azkaban and I'll never be able to help Harry get well, and—” 

“—he left you with no choice, Draco,” Narcissa murmured, interrupting him while she reached out again to brush her fingers against her son's shoulder consolingly. This time, he did not flinch away. He looked up, his breathing ragged as he tried to calm down. “He would have taken Mr Potter's life, had he lived. You needed to make a choice.” 

“Your mother is right, Draco,” Lucius replied in his usual drawl, as though entirely indifferent to Draco's breakdown. He didn't feel upset by this—it was how Lucius always had been. “You were left with no alternative, and to allow yourself to be consumed by guilt at your actions will only inhibit your recovery. As for Azkaban...” Lucius paused and smirked, “I hardly think you need concern yourself with that. Beyond it being an act of self-defence, no jury in their right mind would try to persecute you for killing a murderer.” 

“T-thank you, Father,” Draco replied, his voice very soft as he stared down at his knees.

“I do not want to hear you harbouring any more silly notions about the possibility of you going to prison,” his father continued, “I do not want unnecessary stress getting in the way of your recovery.

“I'll be myself soon,” Draco replied while he reached down to clasp Harry's hand again. “Madam Pomfrey left some potion for me to take, and I don't think that there will be any lasting damage.” At his words, his mother's eyes grew teary, and she smoothed down his bed covers unnecessarily. 

At the end of the visit, he bid his parents as polite a goodbye as he could from the bed. While he was in significantly better shape than Harry, he still tired quickly. After he heard the  _whoosh_ of them departing by Floo, he immediately curled on his side and shifted closer to Harry before went back to sleep.

His parents came to see him for at least an hour a day, and it was the most stiff, awkward conversation that he could ever recall exchanging with them. Each time, Draco watched them intently, and they never once glanced in the direction of his comatose partner, and treated Draco as though he was the only one present. It infuriated him, but he had no idea how to address it.

In between these visits, Draco realized quickly that a week seemed much longer when you were waiting for something. He watched over Harry with hawklike attentiveness, though he was careful to keep from disturbing him too much. Draco would brush the hair from his eyes, adjust the pillows beneath him, and change his pyjamas as needed. While Sirius and Remus never commented on his focus on Harry, the look in their eyes when they caught him at it was far from one of disapproval.

In addition to the visits from his parents, he had received a number of letters from Granger, practically having kittens over the news that Harry was alive.

  
_Draco,_

  
_I am so, so sorry for everything. Are you and Harry all right? Sirius told us some of what happened, but he was pretty vague. When can we come visit with you and Harry? I still can't believe that Professor Snape would so such a thing, it's just too awful to think about! Are you doing okay? I can only imagine what you had to do wasn't easy. Please know that if you ever need to talk, Ron and I will be here._

 

_Love from Hermione_

  
Draco wrinkled his nose at the familiarity in her letter, and the near-daily ones that followed pestering him endlessly about visiting plans made him groan with frustration. As if Harry would have much to say to his so-called best friends in his current state anyway! Following each letter, he sent his owl back to her with varying forms of,

  
_He is in a magically-induced coma. I shall_ _ tell _ _ you when Harry is awake. Now stop badgering me.  _

  
The harsh words did little to deter her, and eventually he had Sirius turn away Granger's owls.

Of course, Draco should have known that this wouldn't stop her.

 

On Wednesday afternoon, he was roused from his peaceful sleep by a shouting match taking place just beyond the closed bedroom door. The voices were so loud that he did not need to strain his ears at all to decipher the words or who was speaking.

“Sirius, get out of the way! He's our friend, just let us see him!” 

Granger, typical. Draco rolled his eyes; he knew that Harry's magically-induced coma wouldn't be broken by the girl's caterwauling shrieks, but it didn't make it any more tolerable, and by the plural, it was safe to assume that that lollygagging ginger was with her.

“What part of, ' _ no _ ' are you not getting?” Sirius demanded, “get out of here. We've told you a hundred times—we will send you an owl when he's awake and ready for visitors.” It sounded as though it was not the first time in the conversation Sirius had said that—his exasperation with the muggleborn was painfully obvious.

“Sirius, c'mon,” Ah, there's the Weasley, “he's our best mate, we just want to know that he's okay!” His voice was calmer than Granger's, though not by much.

“Ron, he's fine,” Sirius replied in something close to a growl, “he  _ needs _ to rest, and you two pestering Draco by owl and yelling at me is not helping. Get out of here, and we will  _ tell  _ you when he's ready for visitors.” 

Draco smiled a little; the man's protectiveness of his adoptive son could be overdone at times, but in that moment, Draco was deeply grateful for it.

“Sirius Black, you get out of the way right now or I swear I'll hex you!” Granger all but shrieked, and at her words, Draco had had enough. Groaning as he stood up, he picked up his wand off the side table and walked slowly towards the door. Draco clutched at his bandaged injuries as he moved, and he didn't need to look down to know that some of his wounds had re-opened.

He swung open the door and was quick to cast his charm. With a flick, he silenced Granger and Weasley, and they gaped at him in opened-mouthed horror. Sirius gave him a,  _ get-back-to-bed-right-now-or-Narcissa-will-murder-me  _ look, but he ignored it. He stared down the two people Harry had once claimed to call his friends and did his best to appear commanding and furious, despite the fact that he felt ready to keel over from the pain. 

“Listen to me, you two,” Draco growled, and flicked his wand again in a non-verbal disarming charm to stop Granger from firing something back at him. Her wand spiralled through the air and Remus caught it without a word. She shot the werewolf a nasty look, but didn't move to reclaim her wand. When Draco spoke again, he made his tone as even and dangerous as possible, commanding her full attention.

“Harry was put through a terrible ordeal. I don't know how much Sirius has told you,” Draco paused to wipe the perspiration from his face with the sleeve of his pyjamas, “but Harry is comatose. He will not wake up for another four days. What do you  _ possibly _ have to gain from coming here and screaming at his parents?” He glared at them, his grip on his wand was so tight that his knuckles had gone white. Draco's other hand was braced against the doorknob as he tried to remain vertical. Finally, Granger broke the stare with a guilty look in her eyes. He flicked his wand to remove the charm so that she could speak.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly. “I just feel  _ so  _ awful about...about not believing you.” Her eyes became glassy, and he watched Weasley's gaze shift between his wife and Draco and Sirius, who was still blocking their passage into the room. Weasley seemed at a loss for what to say. 

“If you  _ really  _ care about him,” Draco murmured through gritted teeth, struggling to ignore the waves of pain now rushing through him, “you will come back when we  _ tell you _ that he is ready for visitors. Am I making myself perfectly clear?” Draco's tone so closely rivalled McGonagall's that both of the ex-Gryffindors nodded immediately, their eyes a little wide.

Draco didn't move until the couple moved over to the fireplace, heads bowed shamefully, and disappeared into the Floo. His knees buckled and he coughed sharply into the crook of his arm. Draco grimaced as the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

“Come on,” Remus said while he helped him back up and steered him back towards the room, “I know you're worried about Harry, but  _ you  _ have some healing to do too. Have you taken your potion?”

“Yes, mother,” Draco mumbled as he climbed back into the bed.

“Don't you start,” Remus said while he smirked a little, and cast a brief glance over to Harry. He was as still as the first day, and though Draco was starting to get used to the sight, it was still a little unsettling. They told themselves repeatedly that the state was helping Harry heal, but he still  _ looked  _ almost dead. Draco accepted a glass of water from Remus to wash the acrid taste out of his mouth, and he settled back onto the pillows. “Now,  _ don't move, _ ” Remus said sternly while he gave him a dangerous look, as if daring Draco to contradict him. “If you need something, Sirius and I will be right outside.”

Draco huffed a little and nodded, then rolled onto his side and took Harry's hand. The warm skin settled his nerves, and he closed his eyes.

  
Four days still seemed very far away.

 

~*~

 

Everything was white.

Harry couldn't remember anything.

Something had happened—something big. What was it?

Harry tried to move, but it felt as though every inch of his body weighed as much as a hippogriff. He blinked a few times, and the blinding white started to recede, and gave way to hazy blue and dark shadow. Where was he? He couldn't see.

Harry tried to stay calm, but the lack of vision and memory had thrown him into a panic, and he felt his head spin as he began to hyperventilate. Someone touched him; Harry could hear his voice escape him in a frightened cry, but he couldn't lurch away from it—his body refused to move. The contact seemed to jump-start his brain, and he began to remember.

Memory overwhelmed him, and like watching a film on fast-forward images, sounds, and smells filled his mind. Moonless sky; The Ball; Snape; Draco; Snape kissing Draco; agonizing pain; racing back to the farmhouse; and then...nothing.

What had happened to him?

Harry heard a strange noise, like someone speaking, but he couldn't make out the words. Was someone was above him, or was he imagining it?

_ God,  _ Harry thought as he squinted and tried to make out the images above him as the fear bubbled up in his chest,  _ please, please don't let it be Snape.  _

Things slowly began to focus, Harry realized with a jolt that he was indoors.

_ Why aren't I in the forest? Where am I? _ Harry's breath hitched and he lurched when a hand touched him again. Tears sprang to his eyes before he could stop them, and the hand retracted at once. Harry squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to re-organize his memories into some kind of order, but it was still a mess of images and sensory overload—he couldn't make heads or tails of any of it. A shadow fell over his eyelids and he dared to look again. More shadows had joined the first. He blinked again, and slowly the veil lifted, and the cloudy faces of his parents and Draco came into view.

“Harry, can you hear me?” someone asked, and he turned to the source of the voice. Draco. Harry felt his heart swell. Something cold was pressed into his hand, and it took him a moment to realize that it was his glasses. He tried to lift his arms to put them on, but he still felt so heavy, and so tired. 

“Help me?” His voice sounded very hoarse, as though he had not spoken in a long time. He felt the glasses leave his hand, and with slow, feather-light touches they slid onto his face. Everything came into sharp focus, though it still made no sense to him. Beyond his loved ones, he could see the familiar, faded blue of his bedroom.

“How am I home?” He whispered after a moment of stunned silence. His throat ached, why did he feel so...strange? His brain felt foggy still, and his body was so heavy, why did he feel so  _ heavy _ ? “What—what happened? Where's Snape?” 

Above him, he watched them hesitate, and Draco's warm hand slipped into his. At that moment he realized that Draco was lying in bed with him, and wearing a pair of pyjamas. Harry felt his confusion grow.  _ What happened?  _ Harry tried to focus as Sirius and Remus sat down on the edge of the bed, and with Draco's help they went through what happened that night.

Harry listened as the story came out. It filled in the blanks in his memory, at least until he vaguely recalled losing consciousness. The words that followed were both shocking and heartening. He never thought Draco would go to such lengths to save him. He felt his heart swell as he looked on, and squeezed Draco's hand minutely when the blond's voice caught, his eyes wide and overwhelmed with horror and guilt. “I—I killed him,” he said, the words barely above a whisper.

Harry felt his own stomach twist with sadness for Draco, and wished that he could do more to ease his lover's guilt. He squeezed Draco's hand, and Draco returned the gesture lightly.

Sirius took over telling the story when Draco's voice seemed to have failed him; it was a relief to know what he had missed, but at the same time, it was utterly exhausting, and Harry felt almost as though he was running a marathon, not listening to his family recount the tale of his rescue. He felt a little guilty as a lot of the words began to bleed together, and he was unable to stifle a wide yawn. Sirius paused, and smiled down at Harry.

“Maybe we should finish later?” he asked, and Harry smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled with a small nod. He looked back to Remus and Sirius, “I'm just really tired.”

“It's all right, Harry,” Sirius said, and reached forward as though to grip his shoulder like he always did, but froze suddenly and retracted his hand. Harry eyed him quizzically, but his godfather did not explain himself.

“You've been through a terrible ordeal,” Remus said, covering up the awkward moment as best he could, “your body and mind need time to heal. Don't rush yourself; rest, and we'll be outside if either of you need anything.”

Harry nodded, while Draco plucked his glasses off as another yawn overwhelmed him.

“'nks,” Harry mumbled, and with some difficulty he rolled onto his side. Why did he still feel so  _ heavy _ ? It reminded him of the heavy, sluggish movements after one woke up from a deep sleep, but more extreme. Draco smiled a little, and even though he was little more than a blur to Harry's eyes, he could see the expression easily. He shifted forward, and kissed Harry gently as soon as the door snapped shut. Harry reciprocated as best he could, though his movements were still slow and sluggish.

“Welcome home, Harry.”


	13. The Sound of Settling

Chapter 13 – The Sound of Settling

  
Harry felt as though his mind was set in a permanent state of dizzying anxiety. Draco, Sirius, and Remus had all said that it was all over, that Snape was dead, and the curse lifted, but Harry struggled to really believe it. When the first dawn came, Harry twisted himself into ball, every muscle taut and bracing himself for the change...but it never came. He looked up, his eyes wide and his body shaking badly. Draco lay next to him, and looked on helplessly as it slowly registered in Harry's mind that he had not, in fact, changed. He offered Harry a small smile as he reached out and stroked his sweat-soaked cheek with his fingertips gently.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked softly. Draco had not meant the words maliciously, but Harry still felt them cut. He winced, and Draco quickly retracted his hand, as though he assumed it was the contact that had caused the reaction.

Harry pulled himself back up and lay next to Draco. The anxiety attack had left him feeling nauseous, shaky, and dizzy, and he felt himself desperately  _ needing  _ Draco to be close to him. 

As though hearing his thoughts, the blond draped an arm across Harry's midsection and pulled him close. Harry allowed himself to be pulled in, and he pressed his cheek against Draco's chest with a soft sigh.

“It doesn't  _ feel  _ over,” Harry muttered, and looked anywhere but at Draco, unwilling to let his lover see just how scared he still was. He hadn't even seen Snape's body; was his tormentor  _ really _ gone? Harry still half-expected him to turn up and take him away from his loved ones again. The thought caused another wave of sick to wash over him, and he shivered.

“He's gone, Harry,” Draco's voice was quiet, patient. Harry could recall Draco repeating himself over a dozen times over the course of the evening, but where anyone else may have gotten fed up with his stream of repetitive words, Draco never did. He listened patiently, and would recount again that his tormentor was really, truly gone. Each time, a haunted look filled Draco's eyes, and Harry felt a pang of guilt as he recalled that it was Draco himself who had slain him, but it was difficult for Harry to keep from asking about it. Despite all the reassurances, it still felt far from over.

Harry reached out and brushed his fingers through the fine blond strands, and Draco's eyes fluttered shut at the gentle touch.

“I'm sorry,” Harry murmured suddenly while his arm dropped to the side of Draco's neck, where he stroked the soft skin that he found there. At the same time, Draco eyed Harry with confusion. 

“Sorry for what?” he asked, and Harry raised his eyebrows as though it were obvious.

“For—for well,  _ you know _ ,” Harry said, while a faint flush began to creep up his neck. He'd seen death before, but to be the cause of it...Harry couldn't even begin to imagine how it must feel, even if the person had deserved to die. He couldn't bring himself to finish the phrase, but Draco seemed to understand what he was getting at anyway.

“That wasn't your fault, Harry,” Draco replied softly, and he shifted closer to brush a gentle kiss against Harry's lips, one that he all-too enthusiastically returned. “Please believe me,” Draco continued when he broke the kiss, while he looked into Harry's eyes, the room awash in morning light, “ _ it wasn't your fault. _ ”

As hard as Harry found it to believe, he nodded.

  
Harder still to overcome was the nightmares.

  
Images invaded his subconscious of his time in The Meadow as though he was being subjected to a particularly violent form of  _ Legilimens. _ Snape would grab roughly at him, breathing his toxic words in his ear, and every time Harry would wake screaming.

Unlike the nightmares that he had had whilst still trapped within The Meadow, his waking was vastly different than what he had grown accustomed to. Draco, still recovering from his own injuries, was there with him every time that he woke, and held him until the shakes stopped and he could return to a peaceful sleep, and the warmth of his blond lover kept the phantoms of Severus Snape at bay.

Draco had his fair share of night terrors as well as he recalled his actions during his dangerous rescue of Harry. Harry, in turn, would console him until he was able to return to sleep.

Though Draco refused to discuss it, it was quite clear that his actions had left a deeper mental scar than he was willing to admit. Harry did his best to calm him following his nightmares, but he often wondered whether it was enough.

Harry was uncertain how much time had passed, his days and nights had begun to blend together as he slowly regained his physical strength. He woke at odd hours, sometimes around midday, and other times on the cusp of dawn or dusk. The light of the moon and the rising of the sun still filled him with a lurch of panic, and he still felt amazed when he did not transform. Draco held him through the rising and setting of the sun, and rubbed his back until he calmed down.

No matter what, Draco was always there. He held Harry's hands through his night terrors and panic attacks; he rubbed Harry's back when the fear became so great that he was sick from it, and vanished the mess with casual flicks of his wand afterward. The warm comfort that Draco gave to him was like a tether that kept him from losing himself in nightmares of the man that had terrorized him for so many years. Even after his own injuries had long healed, he rarely left Harry's side.

Harry woke one day to bright sunlight pouring through the parted curtains of his window. Based on the quality of light, Harry guessed that it had to be sometime close to midday. His warm haze of waking was jarred into a panic however when he realized suddenly that Draco wasn't next to him. The spot where he usually lay was empty, the bed sheets upturned and rumpled. The sight filled Harry with a sick sort of fear, and he found himself afraid to call out, and his hands began to tremble.

Harry swallowed thickly as he sat up, and reached out to touch the spot in the bed that Draco usually occupied. The cotton was cold to the touch, which made Harry assume that his lover had left a while ago, and in an instant, his fear became more pronounced.

If he was alone, bad things would happen to him.

Almost at once, visions of Snape danced through his mind, his great billowing robes flaring as he strode forward, intent on taking Harry away again. Harry clenched his eyes shut in an effort to dispel the vision, and he tried to focus on his breathing.

_ He's dead,  _ Harry thought viciously,  _ he can't hurt you.  _ The reassurance did little to ease his mind, and he felt a wave of nausea rush over him. Harry gagged from the effort of trying to force it back.

Harry's breath hitched and he felt his head spin as his panic gave way to dizziness as his bedroom door suddenly creaked open. Draco was there, dressed in a muggle suit of black on black, and appeared less than pleased about something. He looked up, and his expression shifted to one of fear upon seeing Harry. He rushed over and Harry folded into his arms, still shaking.

“God, Harry,” Draco whispered into his hair, “I'm so sorry, I didn't want you to wake up alone, but something came up...” he trailed off, and Harry breathed deeply, while he tried to reign in his panic, and slowly, it shifted to relief. 

  
Draco hadn't left him.

  
Even though the proof stood before him, Harry's mind struggled to truly believe it.

“What—what happened?” Harry asked after a moment, and tried to appear more calm than he felt. Draco was absently stroking his fingers through Harry's hair, and the gentle touch made him shiver, His thoughts immediately going back to memories of his last moments of consciousness with Snape. Draco seemed to sense his underlying panic, and quickly stopped.

“Your—your  _ friends _ are here to see you,” Draco said, despite his feeble attempt to sound neutral, a sneer made its way into his tone. “They are threatening to stay until they see for themselves that you're alive.” 

Draco's tone of voice almost made Harry laugh; while he couldn't exactly blame Ron and Hermione for giving up on him, Draco's indignation on his behalf was heartwarming. He looked down at Harry, his eyes darting back and forth as he studied him, as though trying to discern whether or not he should actually allow his friends in.

“Stand down, Cerberus,” Harry said with a small smile, and Draco snorted. “I'm okay, really. I want to see them.” Harry wasn't certain how much he believed his own words, but after another moment of hesitation, Draco stood and walked stiffly towards the closed door. He took a deep breath as though trying to steady himself, and opened it.

“Now remember what I said,” Draco said threateningly, then reluctantly stepped aside to let his best friends in.

Ron and Hermione looked about as nervous as Harry felt. They had changed very little in the five years since he'd last seen them—Ron had filled out somewhat and his hair was longer. It appeared as though he'd tried to copy Bill's look, but hadn't entirely managed it. Hermione's hair was more tame, and currently it was twisted in a professional-looking knot at the base of her neck. Harry did not fail to notice the matching gold bands on their ring fingers. The sight made him both overjoyed and riddled with guilt at the same time.

“Hey guys,” he said with a weak smile, and Hermione mirrored it, her eyes teary. Harry shifted up a little, and the pair took a seat at his bedside. 

For a moment, no one knew what to say. Draco was hovering like a well-dressed guard dog while he glared daggers at the pair. Harry shifted his gaze to Draco, and gave him a look that clearly said one thing— _ calm down _ . Unfortunately, either Draco had missed the hint or he was ignoring it, and still looked as angry and protective as ever. He sat down on the edge of the bed and Harry automatically took his hand. He felt a twinge of nervousness as Ron's eyes shot straight to their clasped hands, and his lips pressed into a thin line. While Draco had never gone into detail about what had transpired between them, Ron's expression was enough to tell Harry that any acceptance he had once had for Draco and Harry's relationship was completely gone.

The awkward silence stretched on, and Harry looked them over, smiling weakly. He felt overjoyed to see his friends again, but at the same time he also felt a twinge of  betrayal that refused to be dismissed entirely from the back of his mind. Harry wasn't sure if this was a result of Draco's ever-present bitterness and anger at the pair for giving up the search some years before, or his own feelings of abandonment. The two trains of thought were so jumbled together he struggled to discern what he felt, and what he had been told while he regarded the couple. 

“This is going well,” Draco drawled, and the tension seemed to break. The Harry laughed, and Hermione smiled weakly at the remark, though Ron seemed to be pretending that Draco wasn't there. Draco looked on with the ghost of a smile, though the fierce protective look never left his eyes—Harry was fairly certain that his lover might liquefy Ron and Hermione if they said the wrong thing. He squeezed Draco's hand as he once more tried to silently tell him to calm down, but it still did little to ease his lover's tension.

“Well, um,” Harry began, and laughed again, though a little more awkwardly while Ron and Hermione watched him. “How have you...er, been?” He cringed inwardly at how lame the question sounded, but what  _ could  _ he say after being held captive for five years? Harry wasn't exactly keen to discuss the details of  _ his  _ past five years with anyone—except perhaps Draco.

“Erm, well, I'm in Magical Law Enforcement and Ron's at the Auror Office,” Hermione said, her tone almost businesslike as though she, too, did not know what to say. She exchanged a look with Ron, and he seemed to be giving her some sort of mental shrug, clearly sharing in their awkwardness at the situation. “We got married last year, nothing big, just us and our families,” she finished while she smiled at him weakly, and Harry felt his guilt resurface. Draco seemed to sense it, and he squeezed his hand gently.

“Congratulations,” Harry said, cringing a little at how forced his voice sounded, and tried again, “really, that's great.” Hermione's smile warmed and Ron visibly relaxed, his shoulders sagging a little.

“Mum and Dad want to come see you,” Ron said, his voice less halting and awkward than his wife's had been, “but we weren't sure if you were ready for too many visitors.” 

Harry almost laughed following Ron's words.  _ Not ready  _ was an understatement. He squeezed Draco's hand a little more tightly. 

“Er, yeah, something like that,” Harry replied, and silence fell again. Harry watched his friends for a few moments.

“I don't blame you, you know, for not looking for me longer,” Harry said suddenly, and Hermione's gaze snapped up to meet his, her eyes wide. “Most people say that after forty-eight hours it's a lost cause. I don't want either of you beating yourself up over it.” Draco's gaze snapped to him, and he stared at Harry as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. “You couldn't have known what was happening...or that I was still alive.” 

Hermione really did begin to cry then, fat tears tumbling down her her cheeks and smudging her makeup quite thoroughly as she looked at him.

“Oh, Harry,” she said tearfully while she lurched forward a little, and Harry allowed her to throw herself into his arms in a tight hug. Harry could feel the dampness of her tears on his shoulder; Draco let go of his hand, and Harry patted her back awkwardly while she wept. Having known her for so long, he knew that she would throw herself at him like this, but the sudden contact still make him go momentarily rigid. 

_ This is Hermione, _ he reminded himself firmly, while he tried to ignore the panicked look Draco was giving him.  _ She won't hurt you. She won't. _

When she finally pulled back, Harry felt the tingle of a cleaning spell ghost over his shoulder, and he could not help but smirk a little. He had a feeling that moments before there probably had been an eye-makeup stain there. Draco took his hand again, and Harry felt the anxiety from Hermione's sudden hug slowly begin to fade. She accepted a handkerchief that Ron offered her and dabbed her eyes, clearing away some of the mess.

“Harry, I'm so sorry,” she said thickly, looking positively overwhelmed with guilt.

“Forget it,” he replied with a small smile. “It's over.”

“But I—”

“ _ Forget it. _ ”

  
Slowly, they fell into easy, familiar conversation. Harry put as many questions to them as he could about their new lives, and turned the conversation back to them whenever Hermione began to ask him about his captivity. At times, Harry struggled to keep the conversation away from himself without saying anything outright. In these instances, Ron or Draco would give her such a scathing glare that the words seemed to die in her throat. Harry was grateful for that; he wasn't sure he'd ever be ready to talk about what had happened. Draco was also cautious about provoking Ron, who was still eyeing him with a look well beyond dislike—he was looking at him with an expression of genuine hatred upon his face. It unsettled Harry, but he was uncertain how to address it without sparking an argument—Ron had never been known for being very level-headed when he got angry.

After about an hour, Remus came in followed by a levitated platter of sandwiches and a pitcher of butterbeer. Harry couldn't help but smile a little; the sight reminded of the last time that Remus had brought them sandwiches into this room. It amazed Harry how little had changed in five years...and how much. They all murmured their thanks, Remus pausing just long enough to squeeze Harry's shoulder once before he left them to their reacquaintances.

Harry helped himself to a sandwich, and curled up against Draco while they chatted. Draco's hand moved to his back, and his fingertips danced up and down his back lightly.

The light touch helped Harry to relax, and for the first time it truly felt as though he had come home.

As the weeks passed, Harry regained his strength steadily, and he could not remember feeling happier in his life. He had begun to get up and walk around, primarily in his pyjamas and dressing gown in the flat. Draco shadowed him practically everywhere he went—not that he minded. Harry had yet to venture outside, and each attempt was met with another panic attack. He would teeter on the threshold of the building's front doors, and his mind would be immediately assaulted by memories of his capture. Harry was deeply frustrated with himself, but no one reprimanded him for these mental blockades. Each time, Draco would take his hand, lead him back upstairs, and they would sit quietly in front of the fire while Harry tried to calm down.

Despite Harry's self-imposed confinement, he was far from lonely. His days were punctuated with frequent visits from the Weasleys, often bringing with them messages from Hagrid—who couldn't fit through the building's front doors. Ron and Hermione came often, and while Draco obviously held a grudge towards them, and Ron, in turn, with Draco, they were both careful to keep their remarks to themselves.

Sirius and Remus were as patient with Harry as Draco was.

The first time he rejoined them at the table for a meal he was still weak, and his hands badly shook as he tried to eat. The tremors were severe enough that it made eating anything at all a slow process, and he felt as though he was under a spotlight, despite the fact that his parents and Draco hardly cast more than a fleeting glance towards his hands or his plate.

The third time that he lost the food on his fork and it tumbling back down onto his plate, Harry let out a huff of frustration, and raked his hands through his hair. He  _ hated  _ this. 

“Harry,” Sirius said calmly, drawing Harry's attention away from his plate and to his godfather. He reached forward grasped Harry's shoulder, smiling warmly as though it was just another normal day. “Relax, just take your time. You don't need to rush yourself, all right?” His grip tightened on Harry's shoulder for a second, then he released him as he returned to his own meal. Sirius punctuated the meal with easy conversation, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Next to him, Draco reached under the table to squeeze his hand, and Harry felt himself relax a little.

Following that first meal, his shakes and panic attacks slowly receded with every passing day, until they disappeared completely. Harry still struggled with sudden contact when he could not see who it was that touched him, but everyone had been amazingly cognizant of this. They were careful to be in Harry's line of sight if they went in for anything from a hug to a clap on his shoulder. At times they overdid it, but Harry was grateful all the same.

Some of Harry's visitors were not as respectful of his boundaries as his family were however—Molly Weasley in particular.

During her first visit, she had pulled Harry in for a bone-crushing hug and motherly kiss on the cheek the second she laid eyes on him. Her movements were so fast they threw Harry at once back into his memories of The Meadow. He lurched away from her with a fearful cry and bolted, too lost in his fog of panic for her confused and pained look to even register.

Harry pressed himself into the corner of his room on the floor, his legs pulled up to his chest and his head buried in his arms. Despite his best efforts, Harry could not completely rid himself of his almost violent shivering and accompanying heart palpitations. Distantly, he could hear raised voices, though he could not for the life of him pick one apart from the other—it was white noise in his ears.

The sound of his door creaking open made his breath hitch, but he felt as though he couldn't move. Soft footfalls approached him, and Harry's cracked, keening voice escaped him before he could stop it.

“No, no,  _ please _ ...I'm sorry, please, please don't,  _ I'm sorry... _ ” 

The footfalls came closer, and Harry felt as though he might just  _ die _ , the fear was so all-consuming. 

Conflicting thoughts of his rational mind and his fear-soaked delusions overwhelmed him.  _ It's Snape,  _ Harry thought, _ he's finally come for me. But he can't be here, he's dead. Draco said he's dead. Snape's going to take me away again. He can't take me away, he's dead!  _ Harry felt as though his throat had closed up; he couldn't breathe.

  
“Harry.” 

 

The voice was familiar. The voice was something good; it meant warmth—safety. It broke through Harry's panicked haze, and still shaking, he chanced a glance up.

The edges of his sleeves were damp, though he could not remember crying. Draco was crouched before him, and he was watching Harry with a pained expression.

“You're home,” he said gently, not moving any closer, as though Harry was some sort of terrified animal that he was trying to console, “Snape is gone, he can't hurt you anymore.” Draco slid gracelessly to his knees while he watched Harry intently, but he never reached out to touch him. “It was only Mrs Weasley, do you remember?” he continued to speak softly in that same soft assuring tone, “she's sorry for triggering a memory, you know that she did not intend to do that, right?” 

  
Harry remembered now.

  
Home. Draco. Mrs Weasley.

  
He reached forward, and the warmth of Draco's hands in his reaffirmed that he was not hallucinating. With slow, halting movements, Draco pulled him into a gentle embrace. Harry shuddered in his arms, feeling humiliated, but almost too broken down to care. He clutched at Draco while he pressed his face into the crook of his neck; Draco stroked his back, and as he felt his heartbeat slowly return to normal. Harry chanced speaking, but his voice still sounded strained to his ears.

“I—I know,” he said, “I just—she...” he broke off and pulled back. Draco let him go at once. 

Harry buried his face in his hands, and huffed a sigh of frustration. “I  _ hate  _ this,” he growled, “I  _ hate  _ what that bastard has done to me. I can't even...” Harry's voice broke, and he reached up to pinch at his tear ducts, unwilling to start crying again. “Fuck,” he hissed, and turned away from Draco while he tried to calm down. “I can't even get a damn  _ hug _ without dissolving into a mess of panic.” Harry felt another tremor run through him, and his breath hitched.

He heard the soft shuffling of Draco moving, and afraid that he was leaving him alone, Harry turned around at once. His wide-eyed panic faded as he watched Draco shift spaces to sit back down in front of Harry. Draco reached out and cupped Harry's chin in his hands, his touch gentle and undemanding. Harry's eyes fluttered shut, and he felt a tear escape despite his best efforts to staunch the flow. It trickled down his cheek slowly, and Draco's thumb brushed it away without comment.

Harry heard Draco shift, and his lips pressed onto his own. Harry kissed him back, and he reached forward to wind his arms around Draco's neck. He would have liked the kiss to last longer, but Draco pulled back after a moment and Harry's eyes opened.

“It will take time,” he said softly while he pressed his forehead against Harry's, and one of Draco's hands moved to gently massage the back of his neck. “You've been through something terrible. You don't need to rush yourself.”

“That's what Sirius said,” Harry mumbled while he glanced away from Draco, his cheeks going a little pink. Draco chuckled a little, and cupped Harry's cheek, and he refocused his attention on the blond. He kissed Harry again, holding him so gently it was as though he was afraid Harry might shatter under his touch. As with every one of these small moments of intimacy, Harry felt a momentary peace in his mind, and he wished that it could last forever.

They moved to the bed. Draco was always extremely conscientious of Harry's fragile mental state when it came to intimacy, and he did nothing more demanding than kiss—his hands resting gently well above his waist. Harry was uncertain how far he was ready to go, and the concept filled him with a confusing mix of emotions. He felt nervous excitement at the thought of going further with Draco, fright at anything more than the tender kisses Draco offered, and an emasculated feeling at the concept of  _ not _ wanting to have sex. It left Harry feeling almost dizzy as he tried to work out what he really wanted from Draco.

Harry finally broke the kiss, feeling utterly exhausted as the adrenaline from the panic attack began to leave him, and he curled himself in closer to Draco's embrace.

“I love you, Draco,” Harry whispered. The words came to him so easily, and speaking them filled him with the same feeling of completion that he felt every time he was with Draco.

“I love you too, Harry.” Draco replied at once, and Harry buried his face in the blond's chest to hide his smile.


	14. I Will Follow You Into The Dark

Chapter 14 – I Will Follow You Into The Dark

  
No matter how much time had passed, Draco doubted that he would ever grow used to the sight of Harry curled into his side when he woke each morning.

Draco watched his dark-haired lover sleep, and a faint smile ghosted across his lips. The weeks back home had brought out an amazing change in his lover, and Harry had finally begun to look something like himself again. No longer were Harry's cheeks hollowed and his bones jutting out from beneath his skin. He had filled out, wiry muscle slowly replacing what had once been almost nothing but skin and bone. His skin had regained its healthy glow, and the sallow tint of his skin not seeing proper sunlight in five years had been replaced by a healthy golden hue.

Draco reached forward. His fingers traced the line of Harry's jaw, and he leant into Draco's touch with a soft sigh of contentment. Draco smiled.

Without anyone saying anything, Draco had more or less moved into the flat—Remus and Sirius didn't seem to mind his presence, though his parents were somewhat horrified at the concept of him willingly living in such a place. Most of Draco's possessions were still back at the Manor, but his broomstick and clothes had migrated over to the flat.

Unlike his mother, who regarded the whole thing as something scandalous, Remus and Sirius were bordering on barely-controlled glee at the sight of them together near-constantly. Draco knew part of it was their desire to keep Harry happy, almost to the point of spoiling him. Draco was fairly certain that if Harry had asked them for a lifetime supply of chocolate frogs, they would have done it. Used to growing up and getting anything he wanted, Draco found it endearing how humble Harry still was, requiring nothing more than the presence of his parents, his friends, and, of course, Draco. He smiled indulgently; Harry was truly remarkable.

More remarkable still, at least to Draco, was Harry's recovering mental state. Draco doubted that Harry would ever recover completely from the trauma he had experienced at the hands of his tormentor, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Harry seemed determined to not let the memory of Snape overshadow his life, and he forced himself forward so strongly that Draco, along with Sirius and Remus, had to force him to slow down on more than one occasion.

“You don't need to rush,” Draco recalled telling him, “you can do this at your own pace, Harry.” Harry would huff in frustration, but nod to the sentiment in a defeated sort of way.

Following Harry's first disastrous visit with Molly Weasley some weeks earlier, Harry had made slow, but steady progress toward not losing himself when he was touched unexpectedly. Draco could still see him tense when someone would rush to him and grasp his hand or clap him on the back, but no longer did he bolt, or dissolve into a haze of panic. Draco felt his heart swell with pride every time he saw Harry get a little better.

But for all his progress, Draco had found a few setbacks along the way. He had been extremely cautious about doing or saying anything that might cause Harry to relapse into panicked memory, and Draco had learnt the hard way that Harry could no longer stand the scent of wildflowers.

This information came to light when Granger had sent a bouquet to the flat by owl-order. Draco supposed that she had intended it as a 'get well' gift, but Harry had spent an hour in the loo, heaving into the toilet as a result of her crass mistake. Draco burned the flowers and went from room to room, dissipating the smell, until he was certain that the odour was completely gone.

This violent reaction greatly concerned Draco, but he did not bring it up to Harry. He had initially waited for Harry to discuss it with him, but when Harry acted as though the incident had never happened, he did not push. Part of him knew that not addressing the issue would probably do more harm than good, but he couldn't bear to see that terrified look in his lover's eyes again.

  
Lost in memory, Draco did not immediately realize that Harry had woken up, that is, until he felt a pair of lips pressing tenderly against his own. He started slightly, and he felt Harry's warm breath tickle his mouth as he laughed softly. 

“Did I scare you?” Harry asked. He was grinning, a look that Draco mirrored as he shifted closer and kissed Harry with the same level of tenderness. He broke the kiss reluctantly, and ran the back of his knuckles across the edge of Harry's jaw, dotted with rough morning stubble. 

“As far as scary wake-up calls go, this would not be one of them,” Draco replied with a small smirk, and Harry laughed softly.

The couple lay in bed together for another hour, talking quietly, trading tender kisses, and enjoying the company of each other before they reluctantly got up. The smell of cooking bacon was their hint to get ready for breakfast, and Harry grabbed an armful of clothes, slipping out of the room to head to the loo.

Draco stretched out on the bed, in no rush to get up and face the day. He observed the patterns of sunlight against the far wall that fluttered through the curtains, and not for the first time he marvelled at how calm and happy he felt. After everything that had happened, it still amazed him that now all the horrors they had faced were nothing more than a memory. He lifted a hand, the sun's warm rays dancing over his palm, his mind blissfully thinking happy non-thoughts while he waited for his lover to finish.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry re-emerged, barefoot, but in jeans and a red t-shirt, his hair still a little damp from the shower.

“Oh, does this mean I need to get up?” Draco asked while he smirked at Harry, who laughed in response.

“Not necessarily,” he replied while he met Draco's smirk with a small, uncertain smile, “we could—” but whatever Harry thought they could do was cut off suddenly by Sirius's voice filtering in from the kitchen.

“Harry, you can defile the only Malfoy heir later, breakfast is ready!”

Draco snorted, while Harry went bright red. He pulled himself up, grabbed his necessary morning cosmetics, as well as a change of clothes. He paused to kiss his embarrassed lover with a knowing smirk before he turned down the hall to take his turn with a morning wash.

By the time he joined the others, dressed in a white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows and a pair of black slacks, the breakfast spread had been laid out and charmed to stay hot and untouched until he had joined them. A strange warmth rested in the pit of his stomach at the sight, though he had no idea how to vocalize his pleasure, nor, indeed, why it had struck him so strongly at that particular moment.

Draco sat down next to Harry, and at once the fingers of Harry's left hand intertwined with Draco's right. Draco felt a faint flush creep up his neck when the two older wizards exchanged a knowing look, but they didn't comment on it.

They ate in silence, parting their hands as necessary to eat without making a mess. “What are your plans for today?” Remus asked conversationally, while the small, knowing smile never left his face. Draco fought hard to hide his blush, to little effect. He knew full well what he'd  _ like  _ to do, but he was still waiting for Harry to instigate things. After all Harry had been through, Draco refused to even nudge him towards anything that he wasn't ready to do.

“I hadn't thought that far ahead,” Harry said thickly around a mouthful of scrambled egg. Draco grimaced at Harry's Weasleyish table manners, but he didn't seem to notice the disapproving look as he pressed on. “I mean, now that things are starting to calm down, I was thinking maybe I should start looking for a job, or...something.” He chased down his food with a sip of his coffee. Silence followed his words, and Draco exchanged a nervous glance with Sirius and Remus.

“Are you sure you're ready for that?” Draco asked, and Harry turned towards him with a frown. “I mean,” Draco continued quickly, “it's barely been three months since...everything.” He chewed on the side of his lip, battling his desire for Harry to have a normal life, and a fierce  _ need  _ that he felt to shield him from the world. “Don't you think you need a little more time to...erm...” he trailed off, looking to Sirius and Remus for support, but they seemed to be at something of a loss. 

“You've made remarkable progress Harry,” Remus interjected, breaking the tense silence, “but you don't want to rush back into the world, only to have things fall apart. If you really want to find a job, maybe something small to start, part time, or at weekends.” The words didn't placate Harry as much as Remus had obviously hoped that they would, and instead he turned away, frowning a little.

“I just...I can't let Snape win,” Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I  _ can't _ . I need to do something; I need to have my life back.” 

“He hasn't won,” Draco said as gently as he could, and reached back out to take one of Harry's hands, but Harry immediately pulled away. The action made Draco's stomach twist, but he didn't push it. “Harry, he can only win if you  _ let  _ him win. If it takes you two weeks or two years to get back into the world, it doesn't matter. You need to do it at your own pace.” Harry turned back to look at them, but he still looked absolutely miserable. Draco reached forward again, and this time Harry allowed him to take his hands. “Tell you what, why don't we go to Weasley and Granger's house...thing? It's not a job, but it's a start, don't you think?”

“I thought you didn't want to go to the...how did you phrase it?  _ Hetero Hop?” _ Harry asked with an arched eyebrow, and Draco struggled to hide his embarrassed smile. He knew that that phrase would eventually come back to haunt him.

“It's a  _ housewarming  _ you two, not some depraved Heterosexual Mating Ritual.” He and Harry both snorted at Remus's words, and even Sirius barked a laugh. 

 

~*~

 

Despite Remus's comment at breakfast, Harry really did feel like he'd been thrown in some sort of Opposite Land. 

Living with his lover and his parents, Harry had genuinely forgotten that Heterosexuality was still the majority, and looking around, the party seemed to be nothing _ but  _ straight couples. It felt very strange, and the furtive glances shot in his direction did not help matters in the least. 

Of course, no one would pass judgments on him for his inclination towards men, but it was still unsettling to be the  _ only  _ same-sex couple in the room. Harry almost felt as though he was walking around under a spotlight. His and Draco's choice to wear muggle garb instead of wizard's robes only added to the distinct odd-one-out feeling—even the muggleborns were eyeing them strangely.

Ron and Hermione's new house was in a predominantly muggle neighbourhood, and the guests were almost exclusively Gryffindor alumni.

Draco's hand was tensed in his own, and Harry squeezed it in what he hoped seemed to be a reassuring manner. Harry was not ignorant to the distrustful glances Draco was being shot, and he felt as unnerved by the looks as Draco seemed to be, though he had no idea how to defend his lover. Harry's stomach knotted up, and he felt utterly pathetic. Not for the first time, he cursed the memory of Snape, and how he had managed to turn him into this meek and fearful shadow of his former self.

Harry swallowed thickly as he attempted to force his mind to remain present as he wove through the crowd. The last few parties he'd been at hadn't exactly ended well, and he could already feel his panic creeping up on him. Draco seemed to sense this and he took control, leading Harry out of the crowded front room. He wove through the house towards the nearly empty kitchen, and Harry sat down heavily at the little round table, then buried his face in his hands.

“I'm not so sure this was such a good idea,” he mumbled, his words muffled slightly. He heard the scraping of the chair next to him, and Draco's knee knocked against his own. He looked up to find Draco studying him in contemplative silence.

“We can go, if you don't feel you can handle it,” Draco said softly. He reached forward and took Harry's hands, brushing his thumbs over the backs of them. The small contact helped to make some of his anxiety recede; he never thought he'd ever stop being grateful for Draco's endless patience with him. He smiled weakly, and he felt warmth spread through him from their clasped hands.

“I don't know what I want,” he replied with a huff, “maybe that's part of the problem.” 

He glanced away from his lover while he chewed on the inside of his cheek, and listened to the nonsensical buzz of conversation bleeding in from the front room. Harry was slightly peeved that Ron and Hermione had barely stuck around for more than a quick greeting when they arrived before they had been whisked away by some of the other Weasleys. 

Harry had not yet been able to shake off his alarm at the scathing look some of the gingers had shot Draco's way. For all his lover had done for him, Harry hated that he was still so deeply distrusted. He wondered again what had happened between the Weasleys and Draco to cause the ever-present animosity that none of them bothered to hide—Ron was slightly more tactful than his siblings, and was slightly less overt with his dislike, though not by much. Harry hadn't seen his best mate exchange two words with Draco since his rescue.

“Well, let's start small then,” Draco said. His open, easy smile was so forced that it made Harry's heart ache for him. It was clear that he didn't want to be here either, and Harry was beginning to wonder if it was worth sticking around. “Do you want a drink?” he asked, and Harry smiled a little, uncertain whether or not he should be offended by Draco's mollycoddling, but, in the end, he decided to humour his partner.

“All right,” Harry said, standing up while he mirrored Draco's smile, though he felt as though the corners of his mouth could barely tug upward. He was still feeling a little shaky, but Draco's presence was as grounding as ever, and it made Harry feel like he could get through the evening. Draco smiled again, and they dove back into the fray.

Draco guided him over to the snacks table, and Harry had to laugh as his blond companion scoffed a little at the drink choices. Harry couldn't exactly blame him—Butterbeer? _Really?_ While he liked the stuff, it did seem a little juvenile to have at a housewarming, of all things. Draco's trademark smirk crossed his features as he reached for a pair of bottles, though he stopped short when a scathing voice shot their way.

  
“Got somethin' to say,  _ Malfoy _ ?” 

Harry and Draco turned, only to see Seamus Finnegan staggering towards them.  _ How  _ Harry's ex-classmate could be so well lit on  _ Butterbeer _ , of all things, was well beyond him. They exchanged mystified looks, and Draco's mouth twitched into a conniving smirk, while Harry glared at him, giving him a clear,  _ don't-you-dare-start-anything _ look.

“Not at all,” Draco replied much more politely than Harry had expected, “I'm just admiring the choice selection of beverages Weasley has broken out for the occasion.  _ Very  _ posh. I must say, I'm impressed.” 

Seamus stopped short, seemingly uncertain whether Draco had insulted Ron or not. 

Harry grabbed the necks of two bottles in one hand, and dragged Draco away with the other before Seamus had a chance to work out what he'd said. He kept his jaw locked while he tried to keep from snickering at Draco's remark.

“Remind me to never take you to a Gryffindor soirée ever again,” Harry muttered when they reached the front hall, but he couldn't keep the amused grin off his face. He offered one of the bottles to Draco, which he gladly accepted, and they sat side by side on the carpeted stairs, nursing their drinks in comfortable silence. Harry finally began to relax, and almost as though they'd read the mind of each other, they reached out simultaneously with their free hands and laced their fingers together. Harry leant against Draco's shoulder, and they pointedly ignored the other guests, though Harry shot nasty, almost Malfoy-esque looks in the direction of anyone who dared give his lover a look that even bordered on disapproval.

“Harry, Draco,  _ there  _ you are!” a sudden voice cried; Harry looked up at the sound of his name and smiled a little tiredly—the evening had proved to be much more exhausting than he had expected.

“Hey, Hermione,” he said while he tried to make his voice sound more animated than he felt, “great party. Congratulations on the house.”

“Thanks, Harry,” she replied warmly while she beamed at him, then looked back to the crowded front room, and back to them. Things were still more than a little awkward on both ends, but Harry had to give Hermione points for trying to hard to keep their friendship alive. “Are you all right? I haven't seen you two talk to anyone all night.”

“Seamus made us feel a little less than welcome,” he replied evenly while he ignored the _ shut-up-right-now _ look that Draco was giving him. Hermione frowned at his words, and she glanced back towards the front room. Harry could see Ron and Seamus talking and laughing animatedly, and his grip on Draco's hand tightened. Hermione did not miss the exchange, and she looked absolutely heartbroken. Harry did his best to ignore the look of pity that she was regarding them with, but still felt a strange twist in his gut—he didn't like the feeling, but how could he verbalize what he was feeling without hurting Hermione's feelings?

“Oh, Draco,” she said, her voice sounding close to tears. Harry looked at his partner, and Draco winced a little, and it seemed as though he enjoyed Hermione's sympathy as much as Harry did. “You know we want you here, don't you? You're practically family.” She seemed genuinely distressed, but at the same time, it seemed as though she had no idea how to address the issue.

Draco pressed his lips into a thin line, as though he was struggling to swallow a few choice insults. At the same time, Harry seriously doubted the 'we' pronoun she had used, and he suspected it was born of habit rather than genuine feeling. Ron's short greeting at the door earlier and his quick escape into the throng of Gryffindors was enough to make Harry suspicious, but his reluctance to even meet Draco's eye confirmed what he suspected.

“It's fine, Granger,” Draco replied. His voice was cold and even, giving away none of his true feeling one way or the other, “I expected no warmer a welcome; don't get too wound up about it.” He turned his gaze away from her and back to Harry, offering him a small smile as though he was trying to reassure him. Despite this attempt, Harry still felt incredibly guilty that Draco had decided to put up with an evening of being surrounded by vaguely hostile and vaguely drunk Gryffindors in an attempt to help him through everything. He felt both a swell of love for the man one step below him, and terrible guilt for putting him through this. Harry stood, and pulled Draco with him. The movement clearly surprised his blond companion, but he moved smoothly as though he had been expecting it.

“We better get going anyway, Hermione,” Harry said, smiling pleasantly as he descended the few steps and let go of Draco reluctantly to hug her, “thanks for inviting us.”

“Oh, but...” Hermione began while she accepted the hug, but the sudden announcement seemed to have left her a little thrown. Whatever she was about to say seemed to die in her throat, and her expression rearranged itself into a friendly smile. “All right, I'll let Ron know. Maybe we can get together sometime this week, something less...crowded?” Harry nodded a little, forcing himself to smile faintly. 

“Definitely,” he replied, and bid her goodbye with a small half-wave, then grabbed Draco's hand, and slipped out of the doors before anyone had noticed that they'd gone.

 

~*~

 

“Well, that was an unmitigated disaster,” Harry said while he tilted his head back and stared up at the clear night sky. Draco smiled, and he felt some of his tension leave him as they cleared the property line. He wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders, pulled him close, and leant in to kiss the edge of his jaw, eliciting an amused chuckle from him.

“You could say that,” Draco replied as he looked away and continued down the pavement, though his arm stayed in place around Harry's shoulders, though he didn't seem to mind. “I forgot how warm and welcoming you lot can be.” Harry huffed a laugh, but made no move to defend his former house, which surprised Draco.

“If I'd known that that would happen, I never would've let you talk me into coming,” Harry said, his mouth pulled into a frown while he moved to wrap his arm around Draco's waist. The small contact made Draco feel delightfully warm. “You know, you don't have to put up with that Gryffindor bullshit,” Harry said while he leant in and pressed his head against Draco's shoulder, and the sudden movement made them swerve slightly, “some grudges never die, I suppose.”

“I think that's fairly obvious after our reception this evening,” Draco replied, wondering belatedly if Harry had noticed the looks  _ he'd  _ been given throughout the evening, or if he was too hyper-aware of Draco to notice. It was a look he knew well— _ traitor _ . 

Did those brainless gits seriously think that Harry had betrayed them by throwing in his lot with a  _ Malfoy? _ He couldn't pinpoint how he felt about that, beyond a strong desire to backtrack and curse everyone in attendance, save perhaps Granger.

Harry stopped suddenly, and Draco stumbled in surprise, though Harry grabbed him to keep him from falling. Harry turned to face his partner, and there was a strange, determined gleam in his eye. He wrapped his arms around Draco's neck, and pulled him in for a hard, passionate kiss.

The ferocity of it startled Draco; it was more intense than anything that they had shared following his rescue, and while part of him was practically cheering in response to it, another part of him hesitated, worried about pushing Harry too far, even unintentionally.

His desire for Harry won out, and he curled his arms around Harry's waist, pulling him closer. Harry reached up and ran his fingers through Draco's hair, and Draco sighed into the kiss, parting his lips a little as Harry mirrored his actions, their tongues tasting each other for the first time in what felt like ages. Draco felt Harry moan softly into his mouth, and a shudder ran through him, but Harry did not stop or even give pause to his actions. Hating himself more than a little, he broke the kiss reluctantly.

“We need to stop,” Draco murmured hoarsely, though he was unwilling to untangle himself from Harry just yet, “unless you wish for me to make a complete mess of my new trousers.” Harry grinned almost devilishly, and he tugged Draco towards their Apparition spot before he spoke again.

“Come on,” Harry said, his voice as thick and husky as Draco's had been, “I have it on good authority that Sirius and Remus won't be home 'til late tonight.”

His lover's enthusiasm rubbed off on him, and Draco's mouth curled into a grin. They hurried to the Apparition spot, just short of running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Not to worry, there will be no vague skimming over certain... _ahem_... _scenes_ next chapter. Thanks for reading!


	15. These Are The Days We Dream About

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is pretty...banging if I do say so myself. (Even for me, that was a pretty awful pun) This is actually the first Drarry smut scene I've ever written, so let me know how I did!

Chapter 15 – These Are The Days We Dream About

  
The couple appeared with a sharp  _ crack  _ in the middle of the sitting room. Without a word, they hurried down the hall, hand in hand, and made a mad dash for their bedroom. 

The second that the door snapped shut, Harry felt himself pressed into it by Draco, and where once the entrapment and pressure against his person would send him into a panicked-induced memory, he was present enough to know it was Draco, and that fact alone dissolved any fear that attempted to latch onto his mind.

Draco caught his mouth in a fierce but tender kiss, his hands slipping under the hem of Harry's T-shirt and brushed across his hot flesh, making Harry gasp into his mouth. “ _God_ ,” Harry murmured in between heated kisses, “I love you—I love you so much.” 

His lover didn't respond, but pulled back to help Harry slip out of the garment. The moment that it had been discarded, Harry grabbed the collar of Draco's button-down shirt a little more roughly than he had intended, and all but shoved his tongue down his throat. Harry's fingers worked hastily at the buttons on Draco's shirt, and after a few infuriatingly long minutes, he shrugged out of the garment.

Harry moaned out loud at the sight displayed before him—thin but leanly muscular, with a fine dusting of blond hairs across his chest and down the centre of his abdomen. And  _ God _ he was so fair. 

Harry reached out and brushed his fingers over the white skin, his own tanned flesh looking amazingly dark in contrast to it. Draco shivered under his touch, and Harry broke the kiss to drag his mouth down the side of Draco's throat and over his chest. Draco shivered again, a soft, throaty moan escaping him as Harry mapped his upper body with his lips, teeth, and tongue.

When Harry reached the top of his tented trousers, Draco's hand touched his shoulder stopped him short.

“Come on,” Draco said with a weak smile, and tugged Harry in the direction of the bed. Cottoning on, he followed Draco's lead and they climbed onto the unmade bed. This time, Draco took his turn. He explored Harry, his fingers ghosting over his erect nipples, teeth grazing across his sensitive flesh, eliciting soft gasps from Harry as he became lost in the sea of new sensations.

“God, Draco,” Harry whimpered a little when the blond had reached the top of his jeans, and he paused again. Damn him. He sat up a little, but his irritation died in his throat at the nervous, uncertain look that Draco was regarding him with.

“I just want to make sure you're sure,” he said softly, doing a bad job at hiding his own arousal. Harry shifted forward and kissed him softly. He cupped Draco's face in his hands, then pulled back to pressed his forehead against Draco's.

“I'm sure,” Harry murmured, kissing him one more time in an attempt to quell Draco's concerns, “are  _ you _ sure?” 

“ _ Gods, yes,”  _ Draco breathed, and Harry almost laughed at the admission. He fell back onto the sheets, and Draco made quick work of peeling Harry out of his jeans. Harry lifted his bum off the bed in an attempt to help his partner along, and the garment joined the others strewn over the floor. 

Draco crawled back up to kiss Harry again, and Harry, in turn, wrapped his arms lazily around Draco's shoulders to draw the moment out. He desperately wanted to go slow, to savour every moment of this first experience, but at the same time, his fierce  _ need  _ made him want to just rip Draco out of those overpriced clothes and get it over with. He tried to verbalize this thought to his partner, but came out as a garbled moan, intensified when he felt Draco press a palm into his the front of his pants.

His breath hitched and Harry threw his head back, arching his hips as he groaned. Harry reached for the catch on Draco's trousers, but he frowned when his hand was swatted away. “Let me take care of you,” Draco purred, smiling faintly down at him. Harry felt himself go a little red.

“You  _ always  _ take care of me,” Harry pointed out while he tried to pout, but the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth made it difficult to do so. Draco chuckled at his words, and shrugged helplessly. It wasn't as though Harry was wrong. 

Draco leant in and kissed Harry again, his knees braced on either side of Harry's hips, which left his hands free to twine into Harry's hair. Draco's touches were excruciatingly slow, and Harry arched his hips against Draco's groin, giving him less of a hint and more of a billboard of what Harry wanted from him. Harry felt Draco's mouth twitch into a smirk, and he lifted his hips just out of Harry's reach.

With a slightly defeated huff, he fell back onto the bed. At that same moment, Draco broke the kiss and sat up, perched on his calves as he looked Harry up and down. The stare was intense, but not uncomfortable. Even so, Harry could feel the flush rise in his cheeks. “What are you looking at?” he asked, and Draco's expression immediately softened.

“You,” Draco replied simply; his smirk was gone, and a warm smile had replaced it. Harry laughed softly while he shook his head.

“How did I ever manage to fall for someone as cheesy as you?” He asked, and Draco grinned in response to Harry's words before he leant forward to kiss him again. Draco traced the contours of Harry's chest with his fingertips, and he shivered under his lover's gentle touch. It was far from practised, but felt wonderful all the same. Harry caught Draco's his bottom lip between his teeth, and his breath caught in anticipation when he felt Draco's thumbs hook under the waistband of his pants.

Harry moaned softly as he arched his hips just barely off the bed as the garment was slipped off, exposing his erect cock to the air. He shivered a little in nervous anticipation, while Draco slowly slid down, peppering Harry's exposed flesh with feather-light kisses along the way. He felt Draco press a warm kiss to the lowest point of his abdomen, mere inches from the straining organ. Harry groaned, but Draco ignored his pleading vocalizations. He took his time, brushing his hands gently over Harry's inner thighs, kissing and touching at every bit of skin close to, but never actually touching his erect member.

A thin sheen of sweat coated Harry's skin, and as he began to think he might burst from all the teasing, his breath hitched sharply as his cock was engulfed in the wet heat of Draco's mouth. 

A quivering moan escaped him and his hips jerked forward involuntarily, though at the same time he tried to stop the movement, with little success. Draco braced one of his hands on the bed to keep himself balanced, while the other coiled at the base of Harry's cock, stroking what he could not fit in his mouth. With each bob of his lover's head, Harry could feel the mild convulsion of Draco's gag reflex reacting, but he never stopped or slowed down. Harry was lost in the sensation, his breathing coming out in sharp gasps while keening moans of pleasure slipped past his lips, and his hips jerked in time to Draco's movements, while tried feebly to keep from accidentally gagging his partner.

It did not take long for Harry to sense the impending release, and he reached down to grab blindly at Draco's shoulder. “Draco,” he breathed, “I'm gonna—I'm gonna—” but the blond ignored his words and instead doubled his efforts, and within moments Harry came, throwing his head back, as he groaned, his orgasm momentarily overwhelming his senses.

Harry lay there, utterly spent, as he felt the soft sagging of the mattress as Draco shifted up to join him. He turned onto his side, leant in to share a kiss, and found that he could taste himself on Draco's tongue. It was a strange sensation, but Harry found that did not entirely dislike it. Though he still felt spent from his orgasm, he grinned at Draco and took his turn to pin his lover against the soft folds of the duvet. Draco's breath hitched in surprise, while Harry leant forward to press a kiss into the centre of Draco's chest. He dragged his tongue down over his abdomen, and stopped at the top of his trousers.

He made quick work of unbuttoning and yanking the obstructive garment off, along with Draco's pants in the same swift motion. Draco gasped, as though surprised by Harry's rough, impatient movements. Harry felt a thrill of nervous energy run through him. He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment while he steadied himself.

Taking one last calming breath, Harry extended his tongue and dragged it over the underside of Draco's cock, causing the young man to gasp sharply. Pleased with the reaction, Harry moved to the tip, closing his lips over it and suckling for a moment before he swallowed the rest of him.

Harry opened his mouth wide, pushing until he felt Draco's tip brush the back of his throat. He backed up and bobbed his mouth over Draco's length, his tongue pressed firmly to his underside of his cock, and his teeth carefully covered as he moved. Based on the jumble of curses and moans pouring from Draco's mouth, he wasn't doing too badly.

It did not take long for Harry to feel the telltale signs of Draco's impending orgasm, but unlike with his partner, he was not certain that he was quite ready for someone to come down his throat, and he pulled back at the last minute, using firm, sure strokes with his hands to bring him the rest of the way to orgasm. Draco groaned, his hips arching sharply, and his seed sputtered over his stomach and Harry's hand.

Draco fell bonelessly back onto the bed while Harry grabbed his wand and flicked it once to clean up the mess. He crawled back up to rejoin his lover, grinning as he stretched out next to him, his right arm draped lazily across Draco's chest, and his chin pressed lightly into his shoulder. Draco turned his head a little, smiling lazily at Harry, his skin practically glowing under the thin layer of sweat that clung to his form.

“I'd say that went well,” he drawled, to which Harry chuckled and pressed a kiss into his shoulder.

“Passable, definitely,” he replied in a similar tone of voice. Draco smirked and rolled over to kiss Harry properly; Harry didn't think he'd ever get tired of the way Draco kissed. He moaned a little into Draco's mouth, pressing himself up bodily against the blond, chest-to-chest and hip-to-hip, with his arms wrapped around his neck. The close contact made Draco groan, and he wrapped his arms around Harry's waist while he attempted to draw him closer.

Harry lifted a leg and curled it around Draco's thigh. The contact made his partner shiver, and he burrowed closer into the embrace. The response caused Harry to grin, and he shifted one arm to trail his fingertips up and down the curve of Draco's tricep. The light contact made Draco shiver again, and Harry grinned at the reaction. They broke the kiss, and Draco pressed his cheek against Harry's clavicle, sighing contentedly.

“You know,” Harry murmured, carding his fingers through the silver-blond locks,“I was really nervous about...well,  _ this  _ with you. But I shouldn't have been.” True, Snape had never raped him, but he had come dangerously close more than once—but this was  _ Draco,  _ someone that Harry knew loved him, and he was confident that he knew his lover's affections well enough to know that he would never try to force Harry into anything. That fact alone was enough to chase his demons away. The thought brought another smile of contentment to Harry's face.

“Because of...” Draco trailed off, his expression wavering between wanting to ask, and clearly afraid to vocalize the thought.

“Yeah, but then I remembered that it's  _ you,  _ and that made it amazing, rather than terrifying.” Harry explained, and he felt the low thrum of Draco chuckling into his chest, and he disentangled himself from Harry just enough to slide up the bed until they were eye to eye.

“ _ Amazing _ , you say?” Draco asked, his mouth twitching into a self-satisfied smirk, and Harry couldn't help but laugh.

“Don't read too much into it, it's just a phrase,” Harry replied, but he couldn't keep the small grin from his own mouth.

“Oh, but how can I not? Amazing, in bed,” Draco said, then leant in to bite gently at the hollow of Harry's throat, then kissed it a second later, eliciting a small gasp from him. “Now, I need to get you from  _ amazing _ to  _ fantastic _ . No small feat, I assure you.”

“You'll manage somehow,” the words came out as a gasp, Draco's deft fingers skittering across his ribs to rub at his hips, his thumbs dangerously close to his groin, but never actually touching it. Harry groaned, and Draco echoed the sound, seconds before devouring his mouth in a hungry kiss.

Harry rotated his hips while his tongue slipped between Draco's parted lips. His half-hard cock ground into Draco's, which elicited a delicious moan from the blond. Harry shifted a little, Draco following his movements, and Harry suddenly found himself straddling his partner. Unused to the position, he broke the kiss briefly to stare down at Draco, uncertain what he wanted to say. Draco smiled warmly up at him, and reached up to cradle the back of Harry's neck. He coaxed him forward, and kissed him again. Harry melted into the contact, shuddering with pleasure as he felt their twin erections brush against one another. Draco arched his hips and parted his legs invitingly. The submission startled Harry, but he wasn't complaining, either.

“Are you sure?” he murmured against Draco's mouth, and he felt his lover smile.

“I'm sure, Harry,” he replied as he broke the kiss and stared up at Harry, eyes wide with arousal and unwavering trust. Harry took a steadying breath, the reality of the situation exciting him as much as it terrified him. Harry reached for the night table to grab his wand, flicked it once, and a small stone jar flew out from under the bed and into his hand. Draco cocked a brow at him, and he felt his face grow warm.

“Erm...Hermione made it for me, just in case,” he explained, and at his words he felt his face flame even further. He'd approached Hermione some weeks earlier, asking her to help him make the lubricant. It became obvious fairly quickly that concocting a potion was enough to trigger Harry's traumatic memories, and she took over its production. He had been rather proud that he'd managed to keep it secret from Draco until they were both ready to take that step.

“Remind me to send her a fruit basket,” Draco said with a small smirk, and rolled onto his stomach as Harry laughed softly.

 

~*~

 

Draco heard the soft scrape of the jar opening, and his stomach somersaulted with excitement and fear.

Harry seemed to sense his emotions, and instead of barrelling forward in true Gryffindor fashion, he felt a soft kiss press into the back of his neck. Draco folded his arms under his head and pressed his face into them, sighing contentedly at the feeling of Harry's gentle touch.

Warm hands slicked with something sweet-smelling rubbed his back, and slowly he felt the tension begin to recede. “You are so beautiful,” Harry murmured into his ear, hands moving down from his shoulder blades to gently rub the small of his back. Draco smiled at the compliment, but he was too distracted by how wonderful Harry's hands felt to come up with some kind of response.

Harry paused just short of Draco's coccyx, and his hands hovered there for a moment before Draco felt a slicked finger trace the cleft of his buttocks. His breath hitched and he lifted himself higher, inviting Harry to continue. He hesitated again, and Draco almost groaned in frustration. He bit his lip to keep himself from speaking, and he waited as patiently as he could for Harry to continue.

Draco's patience paid off when he felt a slick finger position itself at his entrance, and after the briefest moment of hesitation, it slid inside. Draco threw his head back with a sharp gasp, and Harry froze. “K-keep going,” he murmured at once, lost in the sensation and wholly unable to reassure Harry more coherently. He pressed backward onto Harry's finger, and the wordless reassurance seemed to spur Harry to continue.

Harry slid the finger in and out of Draco in slow, gentle thrusts. Draco's head drooped forward, his hips gyrating in time with Harry's slow movements. He slipped in a second finger, and Draco groaned softly, pushing back on the digits, his breath coming out in shallow gasps of desire. Behind him, Draco could hear Harry's laboured breathing, and he felt himself relax a little, for it was a sound of arousal and not panic.

It seemed that Harry could not wait anymore, and he removed his fingers from his arse, and Draco felt his partner scramble into position.

Harry rested his hands on Draco's hips, and began to push in very slowly. Despite Harry's preparations, Draco's breath hitched with pain. He clenched his eyes shut, his limbs trembling a little. Harry froze, and slowly began to pull out.

“No, no,” Draco breathed, shocked at how close to begging his voice sounded, “keep going, I'm all right.”

“A-all right...” Harry sounded uncertain, but pushed himself in deeper. Draco groaned, pressing his forehead into the folds of the duvet. Soon, Harry's cock was in him entirely, and Draco had never in his life felt so complete. He felt Harry lean forward and press a small kiss to the centre of his damp back. The silent reassurance seemed to make some of the pain recede, and he gave Harry a short nod for him to continue.

The pain was not what Draco had expected. Yes, it hurt, but it was not as mind-numbingly excruciating as he had expected. Harry slid halfway out, and thrust back in slowly. Draco rocked his hips in time with his lover's movements, and slowly he felt Harry begin to lose himself in the sensation. His movements became faster, more jerky, and Harry gasped and moaned so quietly that Draco had to strain his ears to catch it.

“God, Draco...” he mumbled, “you feel so  _ good _ .” He groaned as Draco jerked backward to meet his cock, and at that moment he felt it brush against something inside him.

“Oh!” Draco gasped sharply and threw his head back, his fingers clutching tightly at the blankets. “Gods, Harry,” he said when he felt Harry freeze, “whatever you just did...do it again.”

That was all the encouragement that Harry needed, and as he resumed his movements, he angled himself carefully so that Draco's prostate was hit with almost every thrust. Draco moaned beneath him, writhing and trembling from the sheer pleasure of what he was feeling. It was better than he could have ever dreamed. He could feel Harry getting close, and he reached down to coil a hand around his own cock.

It did not take long to bring himself to orgasm, and a moment later he both heard and felt Harry cry out his release as he painting Draco's hole with his hot seed. Harry fell forward, and Draco allowed them both to fall to the bed in a mess of tangled limbs and sticky bodily fluids. Harry pulled out after a moment, leaving Draco feeling strangely empty. 

Draco immediately rolled on his side and pressed his back into Harry's chest. Draco's eyes fluttered shut as Harry wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him close. He pressed a gentle kiss against the back of Draco's neck, then rested his chin against the blond's shoulder. 

“All right?” Harry asked softly.

“Perfect,” Draco replied at once with a sleepy, peaceful smile. Even  _ perfect  _ seemed to understate how complete he felt. Somewhere behind him the lights dimmed, and with a contented sigh he settled into Harry's embrace and fell into blissful sleep.

Draco woke sometime later, but he guessed that he could not have been asleep long, given that it was still dark out. Harry was clinging to him like he was some overlarge stuffed animal, and the warm pressure against his back made him almost dizzy with joy. He shifted carefully, not wanting to wake his partner, and turned to face Harry.

Eyes shut, entirely at peace, Harry looked so much younger than his twenty-four years. Draco reached out a hand and brushed a few scant locks of hair off his forehead, exposing the lightning bolt scar that still resided there. 

_ Gods,  _ Draco thought, his fingertip tracing the famous cut, and he felt consumed momentarily with pity.  _ He's endured so much, how can he even smile after everything that he's been through?  _

Draco leant in, and lightly brushed his lips against the famous scar; “I promise, Harry,” he whispered softly, “you'll never face the world alone ever again.” 


	16. Up To Something

Chapter 16 – Up To Something

 

Harry woke the following morning to an empty bed. He felt his stomach twist with panic, his breath hitched, and his fear mounted to the point where he began to feel physically ill. It faded almost at once when Harry heard the low thrum of Draco's voice intermingled with Remus and Sirius's coming from outside. Harry took several deep breaths to calm himself, then rolled out of bed.

After the panic faded, he was able to remember yesterday evening's events following the disastrous party with delightful clarity. He smiled indulgently as he shrugged into a dressing gown and grabbed a wad of wrinkled, but clean clothes from his wardrobe; after his time in The Meadow, he had feared that he'd be incapable of physical closeness ever again—even with Draco. But after last night, he felt as though his life was _finally_ going right. It was a wonderful feeling.

Harry padded down the hall for a quick shower, then headed to the main area of the flat where the others were. They were still talking in hushed tones, but too quietly for Harry to catch the words.

 

As he stepped out, hair still slightly damp, he caught sight of them crouched forward in their seats around the kitchen table, whispering urgently to one another. At his appearance, they stopped talking at once. Draco turned and smiled at Harry, probably more widely than he normally would have, while Harry eyed the trio suspiciously. He had a feeling that they weren't telling him something.

“Everything all right?” he asked suspiciously, but their somewhat fixed smiles did not waver.

“Yeah, great,” Draco breathed the words as he stood up in one fluid motion, and stepped over to Harry. He pulled Harry in for a kiss, and Draco allowed it to linger for a little longer than was probably necessary, and they only broke apart when Remus coughed pointedly behind them. Harry was still far too giddy about the previous night's events to feel overly embarrassed, even with Sirius smirking at them with a knowing look in his eye. 

“Sleep well?” Draco asked, still grinning at him, it so exaggerated that it almost bordered on goofy. Harry was certain of it now; he was  _ definitely _ up to something. The realization left him with a mixed feeling of apprehension and excitement.

“ _ Amazing _ ,” Harry replied, and smirked when Draco snickered, and he tugged him towards the table. Harry allowed himself to be dragged over, and helped himself at once to some toast, bacon, and a cup of coffee. Draco sat next to him and casually rested a hand on his thigh. Harry gave him a look and moved his hand away; he was very proud that he managed to keep a blush off his face. “So, er, anything going on?”

Remus and Sirius exchanged a look. It reminded Harry of that same look that they exchanged just before his last surprise birthday party. 

_ Oh yeah, _ Harry thought,  _ there is definitely something going on _ . 

“Oh, y'know...nothing much,” Sirius replied vaguely, and Harry snorted. His godfather had always been a terrible liar. Remus elbowed his bonded sharply, while Harry grazed on his breakfast. 

“Yeah, I'll bet,” he replied sarcastically, whule Sirius tried to mask his guilty grin at Harry's words behind his cup of coffee.

“Any plans for today?” Remus asked conversationally, though that suspiciously excited glint never left his eye.

“Actually, I was thinking of dropping in on Ron and Hermione,” Harry replied thickly around a mouthful of toast, “do some damage control after our hasty getaway last night.” Harry chased the toast down with a large gulp from his coffee cup, and turned to his blond companion, “d'you wanna come with me?”

“Actually...I've got something I need to do today,” Draco replied while he reached out and squeezed Harry's hand, a vaguely guilty look crossing his features, “raincheck? I'll see you tonight though.”

Harry arched an eyebrow at him. He was suspicious and curious, but whatever they were up to, obviously it was big. Harry didn't want to be a spoilsport, but the idea of going somewhere without Draco made him a little uneasy.

“Um, sure,” he said at last, and Draco smiled at him while he squeezed Harry's hand under the table.

After Draco took off to do whatever he needed to do—he was still being strangely tight-lipped about _where_ he was going—Remus intercepted Harry as he was shrugging into his jacket.

  
“Harry? Before you go, could I have a word?” he asked, and Harry blinked in confusion, but Remus appeared oddly serious compared to his relaxed, but happy demeanour not even half an hour earlier.

“Er, okay, yeah,” Harry replied, and Remus seemed to relax at his words, then he led Harry back to the now-empty breakfast table. Harry sat down heavily in his usual spot, while Remus sat across from him. For a moment he didn't speak, studying Harry in a way he'd usually reserved for misbehaving students during his brief tenure at Hogwarts. The look made Harry a little nervous—had he done something wrong?

“Harry, first I'd like to say how proud I am of you,” Remus began, “and the progress you've made towards getting your life back together.” He paused for a moment and smiled a little, “even after eighteen years of knowing you, your resilience and bravery never stops surprising me.” Remus fell silent again, and Harry's mouth pulled into a nervous frown.

“Uh oh, you have but face.”

“Excuse me?”

“...You look like you're going to say but,” He amended while he grinned apologetically, and Remus chuckled a little.

“ _ But. _ ” he said, “I'm a little concerned about you and Draco.” Remus paused, a tiny frown gracing his features, while Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. His reaction must have shown on his face, because Remus quickly added, “I don't disapprove of Draco by any means, nor do I object to him being here. But Harry, you're becoming extremely dependant on him.” 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, while he fought to keep his voice level, worried what the wrong reaction might lead to. Even so, feigning his calm was much more difficult than he had anticipated. What if Remus decided to separate them? It was too horrifying to even bear thinking about.

“Harry, Sirius and I have seen how you are when you wake up and Draco is elsewhere, even if he's in the loo for five minutes. It's as though you've been thrown back into...” Remus broke off for a moment and frowned, “you act as though he's abandoned you.” He watched Harry with a sad look in his eyes, while Harry squirmed uncomfortably. Remus wasn't wrong, but what did he want Harry to do about it?

“Harry,” Remus said after a few moments of tense silence, when it was quite clear that Harry did not want to speak. “Draco  _ adores  _ you. No power on this earth could make him not love you. You know that, don't you?” Harry felt his neck grow warm. It was one thing to  _ know _ it, but it felt a little strange when it was laid out before him like that. 

“I—I know,” Harry replied at last while he picked absently at a loose thread on the knee of his jeans, “and I hate being so  _ needy _ .” He frowned and tried to reorganize his thoughts into something that would make sense. “But I spent five years alone, Remus,” he paused and looked up to meet his adoptive father's gaze, and the admission made Remus's calm facade crumble a little into something close to guilt. “I was alone all the time, except for sunrise and sunset, when Snape would come and...” he broke off, and a violent shudder lanced through him. Harry took a deep breath, and forced himself to continue. “If Draco's there, it means nothing's coming...it means I'm safe.” 

“For the foreseeable future, nothing  _ is  _ coming, Harry. I'm sure you know that.” 

“I—yeah, I know that, Remus, but there's a difference between knowing something and really  _ believing _ it, you know?” Harry asked, while he raked a hand through his hair. He felt slightly calmer than when the conversation had started, but he still felt nervous. He didn't want Remus to bar Draco from seeing him. 

“I know, Harry,” he said gently, “I just want to make sure that you are aware of it. It may not be so much of a problem now, but at some point both of you will want to move forward with your lives, and you will have to spend time apart, an afternoon, an evening—like today, for example. Draco said that he would see you this evening. How does that make you feel?” Harry exhaled a breath he had not realized that he was holding.

“Honestly? Really nervous. I mean, Remus, I  _ know  _ it's not a spectacular idea to be so...dependent on someone, but I don't know how to  _ stop _ . Draco's been the only— _ one of  _ the only things that have been constant since I got back.” He felt a little flush of shame begin to creep up his neck; it wasn't fair to say that Draco was the  _ only  _ thing, Remus and Sirius had been amazing, acting as though nothing had changed, and not pushing him for details of what had happened. They seemed to understand that he'd tell them when he was ready to, though he doubted that he'd  _ ever _ want to talk about The Meadow with anyone.

“Take it one step at a time, Harry,” Remus said while the familiar, placid smile spread across his face, and Harry felt himself relax a little. “No one expects you to do anything you're not ready for. But spending an afternoon apart here and there might be good for you. That doesn't mean you have to be alone, you could go visit your friends, or you could play Quidditch with the Weasleys, or babysit for Bill and Fleur—” at the last one, Harry made a face, and Remus chuckled.“—or not. But Harry, the point I'm trying to make is that your life can't revolve around just one thing or one person. You need a balance.” 

Harry turned his gaze from Remus, mulling over what he'd said. He wasn't wrong, at some level Harry  _ knew  _ that his dependency couldn't go on forever, but he still had no idea how to fix it without dissolving into a panic. 

“You don't need to do anything about it now, if you don't want to,” Remus said gently, “but will you think it over at least?” Harry looked up and met Remus's gaze again.

“Yeah, okay. I will,” he replied while he smiled weakly, and Remus nodded a little.

“Then have a good time with Ron and Hermione.”

After using the Floo to make sure that he wasn't going to walk in on anything visibly scarring, he tumbled out onto Ron and Hermione's hearth in a heap. He stood up and brushed the ash off his clothes while he looked up to smile uncertainly at the pair before him.

“Hey guys,” Harry said, while Hermione smiled warmly at him, and Ron cocked his mouth into a strange half-smile.

The front room held no trace to indicate that barely twelve hours earlier it had been filled with people. It was almost surgically clean, and Harry felt a little out of place in the room, like one wrong move might make a mess.

“Come on,” Hermione said at once while she grabbed his upper arm, and she steered him out of the room and into the kitchen. A pot of tea and plate of biscuits waited for them on the small table, and Hermione all but shoved him into one of the available chairs. Harry helped himself to the offered food and drink, and bit the head off a ginger newt to give himself a chance to organize his thoughts.

“I just wanted to come by and, er, apologize, I guess, for taking off like that,” he began, and Hermione smiled at him warmly.

“There's nothing to apologize for,” she said at once, while Ron huffed a little as though he disagreed. She shot her husband a scathing look, and he refrained from voicing his opinion. Ron's reaction spoke for itself, and Harry frowned. “You were just looking out for Draco,” Hermione continued, “it wouldn't have been fair to force you to stay when certain... _people_ made you feel unwelcome.” She frowned in Ron's direction, but he refused to meet her eye, “I'm just sorry it had to happen in our home.” Harry felt the smallest twinge of guilt on her behalf—she really did look sorry.

“It's not like you can control what people say, or think,” Harry replied while he glanced towards Ron, who still hadn't spoken. He avoided Harry's gaze, and hid his face behind his mug. “But, Hermione, if we're invited to another celebration here, it'd be nice to  _ not  _ have to worry that someone might curse my lover.” At the word  _ lover  _ Ron sputtered, and based on the sharp gasp of pain that followed, Hermione had kicked him under the table. 

“He's from a family of Death Eaters, Harry,” Ron spat the words, pointedly ignoring his wife's nasty glare, “how can you seriously expect us to  _ trust  _ him?” Harry gaped at him, struck dumb by Ron's scathing tone. For a moment, Ron's attitude had chased away his voice, and he had absolutely no idea how to respond.

“Okay,” Harry said at last, amazed that he managed to keep his voice level, “one, not that it's any of your business, but the Malfoys were exonerated over twenty years ago. There was proof from multiple sources  _ including from Dumbledore  _ that they had been passing information to the Order for over a year. If you don't believe me I'm sure you can look it up at the Ministry. Two, Draco is  _ not  _ his parents. Even if they  _ hadn't  _ been cleared, Draco is as much a Death Eater as I am.” He glared at Ron, but Ron refused to meet his eye. Hermione looked absolutely horrified, her eyes darting nervously between them as Harry continued.

“Now, what the _ hell  _ happened between you two?” Harry demanded, and Ron jerked at the question, but still kept his eyes on anything but Harry. “Because you were almost accepting of Draco last—That Night, and now you can't even  _ look  _ at him.” Harry gritted his teeth, and Ron finally refocused his gaze on Harry, his eyes narrowed in a glare. “And don't tell me it's nothing,” Harry said when no one immediately spoke up, “because it's  _ obvious  _ that something happened.”

“It wasn't anyone's fault, I mean, not really,” Hermione began timidly, and Harry snapped his gaze to her. She flinched, and Harry relaxed a little, while he offered her an apologetic frown. Ron's face had adopted an incredulous expression, but one hard look from Hermione, and his mouth snapped shut. “It was three years ago,” she and looked away from Harry guiltily as she spoke, and Harry felt his stomach turn over—three years ago had been the time when Draco said that Ron and Hermione had stopped searching with them. “Draco was convinced that you were still alive, I had my doubts, especially after Magical Law Enforcement stopped looking, and our own searches turned up nothing.” She paused, taking a biscuit from the plate and picked at it, but she didn't eat it.

“Ron was certain that you were still alive, but he wasn't as...vehement about it as Draco or your parents were,” Hermione continued, “I told Ron in confidence about my doubts, and he agreed. Neither of us wanted to  _ believe  _ that you were dead,” she added the sentiment with a pleading tone, her eyes a little glassy, “but everything we found pointed towards...well...” she trailed off, but Harry didn't need her to finish the sentence. He remembered all too clearly Snape's jibes from that time period, taunting Harry over the fact that no one was looking for him. He shivered, and struggled to keep his mind from lapsing back to The Meadow, and instead focused intently on Hermione's voice. “Draco had come by while I was talking to Ron about it, he heard everything and got pretty upset.” 

“Don't sugarcoat it, Hermione,” Ron said tersely, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. Her cheeks went pink in response to Ron's words.

“All right. Well...he...he, well, went berserk,” she said, and Harry had to bite back a chuckle at her words. Somehow, that didn't surprise him. “He called Ron and I a lot of awful names, and then he called me a—a  _ mudblood.”  _ She frowned, but didn't look especially distraught over the memory. “Ron got pretty mad, and he moved to curse Draco, just as Draco tried to curse Ron. They both missed and the curses deflected, and then they both hit me. I'm okay,” she added quickly when Harry's eyes bulged, “but Draco took off pretty quickly after that.”

“What happened?” Harry asked, but he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know the answer—by the look on Hermione's face, it was clear she was reluctant to tell him, too.

“Draco cast  _ Sectumsempra  _ at the same time that Ron cast the Slug-Vomiting Hex, and when they both hit me and reacted badly together, I ended up with a lot of internal damage,” Hermione explained, and spoke in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, a polar opposite to Ron, who looked enraged at the memory.

“She was at St. Mungo's for _weeks_ , Harry,” Ron said, shaking with anger, “Hermione refused to report him.” Despite the fact that it had happened years earlier, Ron still seemed as enraged about it, as though it had occurred only the day before. “No one decent uses a curse like that on _anyone_. I should've known better than to assume a Malfoy could be anything but a Dark Wizard.” He glared at Harry, his gaze accusatory, and Harry felt his stomach roil in anger. He took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself, but it didn't help.

“Ron, please! It wasn't Draco's fault and you know it!” Hermione cried, she looked well beyond horrified at Ron's accusation, while her panicked eyes darted between her husband and friend.

“Bollocks. Malfoy knew  _ exactly  _ what he was doing, and you know it. Don't defend that git,” he all but snarled the words, but Hermione refused to back down.

“And how would  _ you  _ feel if something like that had happened to  _ me _ , if I'd disappeared without a trace? I doubt you'd be level-headed about it!”

“That's not the point, Hermione! He's a Dark wizard, plain and simple!” Ron was shouting now, his face a deep red from his heated anger, but Harry had heard enough.

“So...” Harry's voice shook as he spoke, breaking up the argument as he levelled his angry gaze with Ron, “a  _ Dark Wizard  _ spent five years searching for me, duelled my kidnapper and  _ murdered  _ on my behalf,  _ then _ spent weeks bedridden from his own grievous injuries, while focusing all his energies on helping my mind heal, without taking a  _ minute  _ for himself. Oh yes, that's true evil, right there.” His voice dripped with nasty sarcasm, and Ron's face began to purple from his rage.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley  _ don't you dare _ !” Hermione shrieked when Ron jumped up, his hand thrown inside his robes. At Hermione's shrill tone he froze, but his enraged glare never left Harry. Harry stood slowly, his eyes narrowed angrily.

“Ron,” Harry began, his tone wavering between trembling anger and an even calm, “you're my best mate, and I love you and Hermione both. However, Draco is my lover and if you try and force me to choose between the two of you, you will lose. Draco saved my life—my sanity. I owe him everything. Moreover, I love him. Not out of some screwed up sense of duty, or because I  _ owe  _ him. He means everything to me, and if you  _ ever  _ threaten him, you will be very sorry indeed.” Harry kept his tone dangerously calm and cold, making sure that Ron caught every word. Saying it killed Harry a little inside, but he needed to make sure that Ron would not misunderstand him. He turned his back on him, hoping Ron caught the meaning of  _ you don't scare me _ as he rested a hand on Hermione's shoulder and brushed a light kiss against her cheek. “See you, Hermione,” he said while he he smiled warmly at her, then strode out towards their fireplace.

 

Harry fell heavily onto the sofa the second he got home, and stretched out across it as a huff of frustration escaped him. He buried his face in his hands with a groan, then raked his fingers through his hair.  _ What was he going to do about Ron? _

“Harry?” a voice called out, startling him out of his thoughts, “is that you?” Sirius poked his head out of the kitchen, but Harry didn't bother to move from his position.

“Yeah,” he replied, unable to force any cheer into his tone. Sirius stepped out into the sitting room, and Harry moved his legs so that Sirius could sit next to him.

“I thought you were going over to see your friends?” His tone was light and questioning, but there was no mistaking the look of concern in his eyes.

“I was, but it looks like Ron's convinced that I'm dating a  _ Dark Wizard _ , _ ”  _ Harry snorted at the words, and stared up at the ceiling while he tried to organize his thoughts through his frustration, “I should've known better than to think everything would go right once I got home.” He could feel his despair creeping up on him, and he physically shook himself in an attempt to get rid of it. Sirius watched him in silence, his expression wavering between pity and contemplation. Harry did his best to ignore it; he hated being pitied.

“Remus and I could speak to him if you want, Harry,” Sirius offered gently. Harry turned, finally looking directly at Sirius and he smiled weakly.

“Thanks, Sirius, but if Ron's gonna be a prat, I'm not going to waste my breath trying to change his mind. He'll come round, or he won't,” Harry replied with a slight shrug, while he tried to hide how much it hurt to even think of Ron as no longer being his best friend. Somehow, it felt worse than those weeks in fourth year when he and Ron hadn't been speaking. Harry suspected that that was because it wasn't just him Ron was angry with, but Draco too. Harry felt his stomach muscles clench with protectiveness and anger. He'd happily turn Ron inside out if he tried anything.

“That's a very adult way of looking at it,” Sirius said, but he sounded proud, which surprised Harry. “Ron has his life, and you have yours. You can't bend just to maintain your friendship.”

“Hooray for me,” he mumbled sarcastically, “Hermione's still on my side, at least. I dunno, maybe she'll knock some sense into him.”

“Maybe, but Ron  _ is  _ a Weasley. They're rather good at holding a grudge.” 

“Don't I know it,” Harry replied, and shifted his sullen gaze to the crackling fire.

 

As promised, Draco returned in time for dinner, looking tired, but pleased about something. Unfortunately, no matter what Harry tried, the blond would not give Harry any details about his day.

“Oh come on,” Harry said, eyes wide and pleading, “just a hint. What did you do today?” Draco suddenly found his pork pie very interesting.

“Not saying nothing, Potter,” Draco replied with an amused smirk, “how did your visit with your friends go?” Harry snorted at his feeble attempt to deflect the conversation back to him.

“I think taking half a dozen Blast-Ended Skrewts on a walk would've been more fun,” Harry grumbled sullenly.

“That bad, eh?” Draco asked while Harry frowned and picked at the edge of the pastry crust.

“How come you never told me about what happened to Hermione?” Harry asked; he struggled to pinpoint exactly what he was feeling at that moment as he mulled over what Ron and Hermione had told him—and Ron's subsequent explosion. He tried to convey this by keeping his tone light, but Draco still looked deeply ashamed following Harry's question.

“At first, it was because I didn't want to tell you more than I thought you could handle,” Draco explained with a frown, unable to meet Harry's eye. While Harry understood the sentiment, the excuse of his fragile mental state seemed like a feeble reason to him. “Then later, well, I didn't really know  _ how  _ to tell you. I never expected Weasley to blame  _ you  _ for what I did to his bonded.”

“How'd you know about that?” Harry blinked, trying to recall if he'd said anything that had alluded to Ron's immature reaction, while staring at Draco with wide eyes.

“It wasn't difficult to work out,” Draco replied, “didn't you see how he was last night?” Harry blinked once, and shook his head at Draco's words. “Him and a few other choice Gryffindors were looking at you with the same disdain that they shot at me.” He shrugged, seemingly unruffled by his less-than-warm welcome at last night's party. “I never knew him as well as you or Granger, but he doesn't seem to be the type to be reasonable after he's been wronged.”

“That's an understatement,” Harry muttered darkly while he glared at his half-eaten dinner, his appetite gone


	17. The Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 100 comments?! Whaaaaa? That's so insane to me. Thank you guys from the bottom of my heart for being so supportive of this story. <3

Chapter 17 – The Park

 

It took Harry a long time to fall asleep that night. 

Intertwined in a lover's embrace with Draco, he felt another pull at his heart as he remembered Ron's comments from earlier that day. Staring now at Draco's moonlit form, Harry felt a swell of fierce protectiveness for him. Sure, Ron's anger was warranted—but to a point. It happened  _ three years ago.  _ Clearly Hermione wasn't holding it against him, so why was Ron?

 

_Because he's Ron._

 

The answer came to Harry almost at once, and he sighed heavily. Though it was easy enough to say he'd let Ron come around in his own time, Harry knew it would be much more difficult in practice. He'd known Ron for  _ years.  _ Why couldn't he let things go and just be  _ happy  _ for him? 

He shifted closer to Draco, closed his eyes, and tried valiantly to fall asleep.

Harry woke the next morning to an empty bed. The spot where Draco had lain was cold to the touch, and Harry could feel the wave of nauseous fear begin to rise up. Remembering his conversation with Remus from the day before, he forced himself to breathe deeply and respond to his anxiety as rationally as he could. 

_ Draco hasn't left you,  _ Harry thought fiercely, _ he loves you, and you love him. Snape is gone and he isn't coming back. Just because you're alone doesn't mean bad things will happen. _ He repeated the words in his head like a mantra while he gathered up a change of clothes and headed to the lavatory, his hands trembling.

He took extra time in the shower, turning the water on as hot as he could stand it. He scrubbed roughly at his skin, attempting to wash away his panic along with the remnants of the night, though it didn't help nearly as much as he'd hoped. Harry left the water running to mask the sound of his heaving stomach. Feeling a terrible sense of guilt at his own weakness, he shut off the shower and began to ready himself for the day ahead.

As with the previous morning, when he stepped into the kitchen he caught sight of Sirius, Remus, and Draco with their heads bent together and whispering urgently to one another. The second he appeared they went silent, and smiled none-too-convincingly at him. Harry's curiosity burned in him, but he didn't wish to spoil... _ whatever  _ they were up to, and he let it slide—for now. They better let him in on it soon, or Harry felt as though he might explode. 

“Er, Morning?” he said and Draco smirked, his trademark Malfoy confidence shining through the expression he held Harry with. He stood in a smooth, fluid motion and strode across the scant five feet to Harry. “What—urk!” Harry yelped in surprise when Draco reached him, the blond gathering Harry in his arms and dipping him, before catching his mouth in a kiss that tasted of coffee and marmalade. Harry got over his shock rather quickly and wrapped his arms around Draco's neck to kiss him back. “You're shameless,” he murmured softly, just loudly enough for his lover to hear. He smirked again without offering up a response, and straightened up while he to released him. 

Sirius and Remus were smiling knowingly at Harry when he turned to face them, and he felt his face heat while he tried valiantly to avoid their eyes while he took his usual seat next to Draco. The three of them looked extremely pleased about something—something beyond Draco's blatant display of affection. Harry's eyes shifted from once face to the next, wondering he should bother asking what they were up to.  _ I need to play Muggle Poker with them _ , he thought as he watched the trio,  _ they have the worst Poker Faces I've ever seen.  _

“So, any chance that if I ask, you will actually tell me what's going on?” he asked, and bit back a small laugh as his parents looked genuinely startled. Harry helped himself to some toast, pleased with the shock he saw mirrored on their faces.

“Be fair,” Draco said, “you two are  _ way  _ obvious.” He then refocused his attention on Harry, “it's nothing, really, I just wanted to take you out for lunch today,” Draco explained, and paused for a moment, as though carefully considering his next words. Harry eyed him curiously, certain that there was more to this than Draco was letting on. “I wanted to take you on a picnic...there's a muggle park not far from here. Do you think you'd be comfortable with that?” Draco's nonchalant tone had a nervous edge to it, and it didn't take much for Harry to hear the unspoken question woven into his words:  _ Would it be too reminiscent of The Meadow?  _

Harry knew the park that Draco meant; he'd been there with Sirius and Remus more times than he could count when he was a child. Plastic and wooden structures embedded in sand, and a small expanse of green grass dotted with trees and picnic tables. It was a far cry from The Meadow, and coupled with his memories of his youth, he did not even feel a twinge of fear at the idea. He smiled.

“Yeah, it sounds like fun.”

  
_Draco's up to something._

  
Harry knew it was fairly obvious at this point, but the thought danced through his mind on repeat all morning. His suspicion only became more pronounced when Draco announced that he needed to go off and get something, and when Harry had asked where he was going he simply smirked and kissed him before he Disapparated.

 

He tried to wheedle the truth out of Sirius after Draco had departed, his good-natured patience utterly shattered as he allowed his burning curiosity to take centre stage.

“Come on, Sirius,” Harry whined while he followed his godfather around the flat like a duckling, “I won't tell Draco that you told me, honest!”

“I'm not saying anything, Harry,” Sirius said firmly, “now go to your room before I hex you.” He was smiling as he voice the threat, but Harry decided to not test whether or not he would make good on it, and tried for Remus instead.

“I know that you know, and you know that I know that  _ something  _ is going on,” Harry said, “you can shut me up much more quickly by just  _ telling  _ me what it is!” he grinned cheekily, and Remus rolled his eyes behind his copy of  _ Wizarding Gastronomy.  _

“I'm not telling you anything, Harry,” Remus replied, “go and alphabetize my books if you're bored, but stop pestering me.” Harry couldn't help but laugh at that; Remus's book collection was probably rivalled only by the Hogwarts library in size, and was crammed in what at one time was supposed to be an office. It was a jumbled mess, with barely enough floor space to navigate between the stacks and stacks of books. No one went into the office except Remus, who seemed to have some sort method of organization to his collection, though Harry and Sirius had never managed to work out what it was.

“Yeah, I'm not  _ that  _ bored,” he replied, still chuckling slightly as he got up and disappeared into his bedroom.

  
Just past noon, Harry changed from his jeans and T-shirt to something a little more posh. It was too warm out for him to bother much with suit jackets or the like, and he opted instead for black slacks and a white button-down shirt, which was fitted but not uncomfortably tight. He rolled up the sleeves neatly to his elbows, and made one halfhearted attempt at flattening his hair, though he wasn't surprised when it made almost no difference.

“And they say Gryffindors have no fashion sense,” a sudden voice said, and Harry spun around to see Draco leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed across his chest while he smiled at him. Harry met the smile with a grin of his own. Draco looked spectacular, dressed smartly in a designer muggle suit that probably cost more than Harry's entire wardrobe put together.

“You're back,” he said.

“I am,” Draco replied while he straightened up and moved over to Harry, pressing his thumb against Harry's jaw, just below his ear, while his long fingers gently cradled Harry's chin. He pulled him in for a quick kiss, and when he pulled back, he whispered his next comment against Harry's mouth, the low tone enough to make him shiver. “I heard that you made a right pest of yourself while I was gone.”

“It's what I do, you know me,” Harry replied with a grin and a helpless shrug, and Draco laughed softly while he kissed him again, more slowly this time. Harry casually pressed his knee between Draco's thighs, and he felt his lover groan into his mouth.

“Harry—” Draco tried to protest, but Harry ignored him while his hand swiftly slipped down the front of Draco's trousers, and he gasped sharply. Harry smirked triumphantly at his lover's reaction, and more pleased still when he realized that he was already hard. Harry pressed his palm against the front of Draco's pants, enjoying the sight of the blond trembling under his touch, and he groaned softly as he leant forward to press his forehead against Harry's shoulder. “Wait, wait...” his voice was so soft and breathy, Harry almost didn't catch it.

“What?” Harry continued to casually rub his palm up and down, as though there was no interruption. Draco drew his wand, and pointed it in the general direction of the door.

“ _ Silencio _ ,” he said, and Harry chuckled. The moment Draco had tucked away his wand he lurched forward, his tongue slipping into Harry's mouth before their lips had even pressed into a kiss. Harry did not let his hand slow, though he took great pleasure in pushing away the fabric of Draco's pants and curling his fingers around the blissfully soft skin of his cock. Draco shuddered, and Harry wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him from falling. Harry blindly led Draco over to his bedroom wall and he pressed his lover into it; Draco shivered at the contact, and he moaned pitifully while he grasped blindly at Harry.

It did not take long to bring Draco to orgasm—Harry's hand, slick with precome, slid smoothly over his lover's length, and each pull made Draco's hips jerk in a halfhearted thrust. Soft, keening whimpers of pleasure escaped him, his head pressed back into the wall while Harry kissed, licked, and bit lightly at Draco's neck, leaving a trail of blushing red flesh in his wake. Draco grabbed roughly at Harry's hair, and dragged him into a kiss as he came, his seed sputtering over Harry's hand and his trousers.

Draco slumped against him, breathing deeply as he slowly regained his composure. Harry cleaned up the mess with a quick flick of his wand, then led Draco over to their bed where he flopped down heavily, still breathing deeply. Harry grinned, pleased with himself as he leant in to peck Draco on the mouth lightly.

“I hope I didn't ruin your picnic plans,” Harry murmured, and Draco snorted. He rested a hand lightly on the back of Harry's neck to bring him in for a real kiss.

“ _ Ruin  _ would not be the word I would use, no.” 

“Good,” Harry replied with a grin while he stretched out next to his lover, and kissed him again, “when you've regained feeling in your limbs, we can get going.” Draco looked a little surprised at his words, and stared at him for a moment. Harry blinked in confusion, “what?”

“You don't want me to...?” he began, but Harry shook his head, cutting off Draco's question, and his mouth twitched into a small smile. He kissed Draco again, this time more slowly, his entire body tingling with the familiar delight that he always felt when Draco was near him.

“That was just for you.”

It was well past early afternoon by the time Harry and Draco got up, the blond blushing furiously at Sirius's knowing grin that followed them as they headed out. Harry was too busy laughing at his companion to bother being embarrassed himself.

Hand in hand, they wandered down the street and towards the park. While he was looking forward to this  _ definitely nothing more than a picnic  _ that Draco seemed to have spent the last two days organizing, he couldn't help but notice that something was missing. 

“Er, Draco?” Harry said suddenly, and the blond turned his attention from the passing scenery and back to Harry.

“Hmm?”

“Not that I'm complaining or anything, but aren't you forgetting something?” he asked, and Draco blinked, as though he had no idea what Harry was talking about. “ _ Food, _ for instance?” 

“Harry, you really do think like a muggle sometimes,” Draco replied, and smirking with amusement, he reached into the pocket of his blazer and plucked out a minuscule woven basket and tiny checkered blanket, “Shrinking Charms really are a delightful thing, you know.”

Draco returned it to his pocket while Harry felt his face warm slightly. He felt pretty stupid for having asked, but Draco didn't comment further on it. He tugged at Harry's hand, picking up their pace as they approached the park.

The park hadn't changed much since the last time Harry had been there, roughly ten or so years earlier. School had let out roughly half an hour ago, and the playground was crawling with children and watchful parents. Beyond the wooden jungle gym, plastic slides, and chain swings was a small field of grass, peppered with a handful of trees. The naturalistic sight was more unsettling than Harry expected it to be, and he felt his legs screech to a halt when they reached it. He tore his eyes away from the field, breathing deeply as he struggled to regain his composure. Images flashed though his mind in quick succession; Snape on him, Snape holding him down, Snape forcing his mouth on him...Harry's stomach roiled at the memories.

“Harry?” Draco asked, while Harry squeezed his eyes shut; Draco's voice sounded very far away. Harry felt his the sensation in his gut shift from panic to guilt—the last thing he wanted was to ruin Draco's date with one of his panic attacks.

“Harry, would you look at me, please?” Draco asked softly, his tone pleading. With great difficulty, Harry forced his eyes open and refocused his attention on Draco. His expression was riddled with worry, though Harry saw no trace of the disappointment that he had expected to see.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, his hold on Draco's hand tightening as he spoke.

“We can go if you want,” Draco said gently, “no one is making you stay here. But just remember: this is not...that place.”

“I—I know,” Harry replied, his voice trembling slightly, “no, I want to stay. I need to get over this.” It took more than a little effort to say the words, when all he wanted to do was bolt full-tilt back to the flat. Draco frowned a little while he squeezed Harry's hand, his expression uncertain.

“Are you sure?” Draco asked, his tone riddled with disbelief.

“Yeah, I...yeah. I'm sure,” Harry replied at once; he didn't  _ feel  _ very sure, but his two objectives of not letting his trauma run his life, and figuring out what the  _ hell  _ Draco was up to spurred him forward, and helped him hold on to his conviction.

“All right,” Draco replied, the uncertainty in his voice became more pronounced than ever, but he led Harry away from the playground and up a small incline. As they walked, Harry ran though the memories he'd experienced at the park, from playing one-a-side muggle football with Sirius, Remus pushing him on the swings, and the time he'd tried to jump for the monkey bars, missed, and broke his arm. Even the more physically painful memories managed to bring a small smile to his face, as they were so far from the dark shadow Snape had cast over his early adult life that he felt himself beginning to slowly relax. 

With Harry watching for muggles possibly glancing in their direction, Draco plucked out two items from his pocket and returned them both to their normal size. In the shade of a towering rowan, Harry helped Draco spread out the blanket, and after Harry eased down onto it, he pressed his back into the bark, while Draco knelt down next to him. Harry could feel some of his panic recede, but it did not vanish completely. As his mind went over the stark differences between The Meadow and The Park, he found the experience far less overwhelming than he had expected it to be. This thought process allowed Harry to focus on the present instead of the past, and he felt his shoulders sag slightly as he began to relax.

Draco opened the basket, and Harry watched him curiously, uncertain what to expect. When Draco produced a bottle of Dom Perignon and two champagne flutes, he struggled to swallow a chuckle of amusement—somehow, he wasn't surprised.

With practised fingers, Draco broke the seal and with minimal overflow, he filled the two glasses. He handed one to Harry, and rested the bottle in a bucket of ice that he'd pulled from the basket. He lifted his glass towards Harry, “to us?” he asked, and Harry smiled.

“To us,” Harry agreed. He felt like he'd been thrown into one of Remus's corny romance novels, and he struggled to keep from laughing at the thought; it was sweet, despite the sheer cliché. Their glasses clinked together lightly, and Harry lifted his to his mouth. He'd had champagne before, but never one so expensive, and he enjoyed the way it tickled his throat and warmed every part of him as it went down. Draco seemed more interested in watching Harry than drinking his own measure of champagne, and he felt a flush creep up his neck, and smiled sheepishly at the blond.

As the afternoon wore on, Harry was subjected to a number of foods that bordered on the ridiculous. 

At the back of his mind, he wondered if Draco actually knew what  _ normal  _ people would bring on a picnic when they weren't filthy rich. He had to bite back the question several times as Draco pulled from the basket lobster rolls, a greens salad garnished with roasted fennel and an orange vinaigrette, thinly sliced persimmons tossed with a sweet walnut paste, and brie and fresh bread. 

Draco seemed to take endless pleasure in feeding Harry mouthfuls, the pair giggling when Draco had missed his mouth rather badly(though obviously deliberately), and he shamelessly leant in to lick the streak of dressing off Harry's cheek. The action always ended with the couple sharing a chaste kiss, oblivious to the disapproving tuts of a few nearby parents while they hurried their curious children away. 

Draco rounded off the meal with brandy-poached pears in chocolate sauce, and Harry all but moaned at the tastes that danced across his tongue. 

“God, Draco,” he said after he'd swallowed a mouthful and eyed his partner with an amused smile, “do you even  _ know _ what normal people bring on a picnic?” His lover snickered at the question.

“Not a clue,” he replied smoothly, “I just wanted a chance to spoil you.” He smirked when Harry laughed.

“Yeah, because you  _ never  _ do that,” he shot back while Draco fished another piece of pear and sauce off his plate, and offered it to Harry. Grinning, he opened his mouth to receive it.

“Mmm,” Harry savoured the taste as long as he could before swallowing. He opened his eyes, and his mouth twitched into a small smirk as he got a sudden idea. Harry took a thin slice of the pear, and rested it lightly on his tongue. He leant towards Draco, and Harry pressed his lips to his in an open-mouthed kiss; Draco's tongue darted out and snatched up the morsel.

“I think you've sworn me off cutlery for life,” Draco murmured, and Harry laughed as they kissed again, he delighting in the taste of the brandy, the chocolate, and the taste that was simply  _ Draco. _ Harry felt warm all over, paired with a feeling that he hadn't experienced in a very long time—the feeling of complete safety.

“Harry,” Draco breathed, breaking the kiss. His breath tickled across Harry's mouth, and he smiled. “I brought you out here for something else, too,” he continued while Harry leant back, crossing his legs comfortably as he regarded his partner. The nervous undertones in his voice worried Harry, but he did his best to keep his face blank.

“Yeah? What is it?” he asked while Draco readjusted his position and moved the used plates away. He was staring at Harry so intensely it made him feel warm and nervous all at once. As with all nervousness that involved Draco, it leant closer to excitement than actual fear. Draco didn't speak for a moment and instead continued to stare Harry down, but it seemed to Harry that Draco was trying to gather his thoughts, and he cocked a brow while he waited for his partner to speak.

“I love you,” Draco said, and Harry smiled warmly at the admission. He never got tired of hearing Draco say those words, and relaxed a little as he continued, “in the time that I have known you, I have watched you go from a shy little boy who knew nothing of our world, to the bravest wizard I have ever known.” He paused, a flash of guilt flickering across his expression before he began to speak again, “I love you for your passion, your strength, and your loyalty. There is nothing about you I do not adore with everything that is in me.” Harry felt his heart speed up a little, and he inhaled sharply. Was this going where he thought it was going?

Draco shifted to one knee, and Harry's breath caught, and he brought a hand to his mouth. Draco reached out to take one of Harry's hand, and pulled it from his mouth gently while he threaded their fingers together.

“Harry James Potter,” Draco said, “would you do me the honour of bonding with me?” his free hand he held a simple wooden box, it resting snugly in his palm.

For a moment, Harry's shock had stolen his voice. Draco looked on patiently, awaiting an answer. His calm expression barely concealed his obvious nervousness, and Harry almost laughed. Did Draco seriously think that there was any chance that Harry would say _no_?

“Yes,” Harry said, “of course I'll bond with you.” He smiled warmly as he watched as his lover's—no, his _fiancé_ 's entire form relax, and a wide smile spread across his face. Harry felt the pinpricks of joyous tears collect in the corners of his eyes while Draco leant forward to wrap his arms around Harry's neck and pull him in for a kiss. Harry clutched at him, the pair weeping openly, smiling broadly, as whispers of 'I love you,' passed between them.

They broke apart long enough for Draco to open the small box that he still held. Nestled in a bed of red velvet was a simple silver ring with a cut green stone. Draco took Harry's hand delicately in his and slid the ring in place; Harry felt it magically adjust to fit his finger snugly, as though it was meant to be there. Harry looked down at it, at first he thought the stone was an emerald, but something told him that it was something else. He didn't care, it could've been a lump of gravel and he would have adored it all the same. Harry shifted forward to kiss Draco again.

“I love you, Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Harry whispered, “ _ God,  _ I love you.” Draco chuckled and returned Harry's fevered kisses just as enthusiastically.

Around them, the sun disappeared behind a horizon of rooftops. They stretched out on the blanket, Harry's head on Draco's shoulder and his arm draped across his chest, at an angle where he could admire the glint of the ring on his hand without having to move. Each time his eye caught sight of it, his heart fluttered with joy and excitement. Draco hugged him close with an arm around him.

The clear night sky above them was dotted with stars and the waxing moon. Harry felt so complete, his happiness almost radiating off him and mixing with the quiet, composed joy he could feel from his fiancé, and he shivered with delight at the thought of the word. They watched the sky in silence; there was nothing that needed to be said.

For the first time in a very long time, Harry gazed up at the moon without fear.

It was as though Snape had never come at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've been _dying_ to post this chapter since I wrote it. I'm extremely happy with how it came out, and I hope you guys enjoyed it. Until next time!


	18. Plans and Heart Attacks

Chapter 18 – Plans and Heart Attacks

  
Their return to the flat was less than private, and the second that they stepped inside, Draco's co-conspirators leapt from their seats. Their eyes fell to Harry's ring finger, and their faces broke into matching expressions of joy. 

“Let me see, let me see!” Sirius cried at once, and hurried forward while Draco watched Harry shyly hold out his hand for Sirius to inspect. His face was a little pink with embarrassment, but coupled with the shy smile that hadn't left his face all afternoon... _ Gods, it was adorable. _ Draco wrapped an arm around Harry's waist and squeezed lightly.

“Serpentine?” Sirius asked as he looked down at the cut green stone embedded in the silver.

“Infinite Stone,” Draco corrected with a small smile. Sirius chuckled, and he noticed Harry's brow crinkle with confusion. Draco was uncertain whether or not Harry was aware of the natural magical properties of the crystal, but he did not appear disconcerted by Sirius's reaction, more curious. The older man straightened up, and Remus took his turn to inspect the ring, albeit more cautiously, given that it was silver.

“Draco wouldn't let us see what he'd picked for you,” Sirius explained as Remus stepped back. Remus chuckled a little at the faint indignation that laced Sirius's words.

“ _ That  _ is because you two fold like a cheap suit,” Draco replied, and eyed Sirius as he said it, while the older man smiled apologetically. “If you let something slip, I still wanted this bit to be a surprise.”

“They did remarkably well, considering,” Harry said with a chuckle while he retracted his hand and fiddled with the ring absentmindedly. Draco felt a warmth in his chest at the sight, and he felt amazed at how perfectly the entire afternoon and evening had gone.

“This calls for a celebration, and I have just the thing!” Sirius proclaimed, and Draco laughed along with Harry at Sirius's exuberance while they followed him into the sitting room, and Sirius summoned a bottle with a flick of his wand. Draco had to bite back a snort of amusement; he recognized the bottle at once, though he could tell by Harry's blank expression that he did not. “Madam Rosmerta's Finest Ice Champagne!”

“It's  _ sparkling wine _ , Sirius,” Draco corrected with a smirk, while the older man shrugged.

“Same difference,” he replied with a grin while Remus chuckled and summoned the glasses while Sirius popped the cork with a tap of his wand, and tipped a measure of the beverage into each of them. Sirius pressed a glass into both Harry and Draco's hands, then lifted his own high above his head.

“To love!” he cried.

“To health!” Remus added while he lifted his to join Sirius's.

“To romance!” Draco said, and his own glass lifted.

“To...” Harry paused, and he turned to glance at Draco. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, his eyes shining with such complete adoration that Draco felt his breath momentarily catch. “To healing,” he said, and he lifted his glass to join the others.

  
The evening was something that Draco would never forget. 

Sirius pressed Harry for details of exactly  _ how  _ Draco had proposed, while Harry was rather tight-lipped about the matter, but smiled bashfully each time that it was brought up. Sirius's face was getting redder and redder with each glass of wine that he consumed, while he struggled to recount his own proposal to Remus—which, from what Draco gathered, involved less rich food and romantic notions, and more nudity. 

“So—so then, I took Remus and my brand-spanking-new Black inheritance to the fanciest hotel in Muggle London, and we—” Sirius's slurred words broke off as Remus elbowed him harder than was probably necessary.

“Oh be a good sport, Remus, it's a good story!”

“It is  _ not  _ something these two need to hear!” Remus protested as he went redder than Draco had ever seen him before. Sirius started again, though Draco missed a lot of the story as Remus struggled to shut his bonded up. Sirius punctuated the story with so much choked laughter that his words had ended up rather garbled, and the story ended with a vague  _ something _ that had left James Potter rather traumatized, though what it was wasn't entirely clear. Remus hid his face in his hands with a groan while Harry laughed so hard that tears had begun to streak his cheeks. 

“I think,” Remus said, his face still rather pink, “that it might be time for bed.”

“Aw, really?” Harry grinned cheekily at him, “I want to hear the rest of the story!”

“ _ Trust me, Harry, _ ” Remus said, going rather red again; Draco covered his mouth to keep from laughing, though it didn't work as well as he'd hoped, “you  _ don't _ want to know.”

Remus shunted the pair towards their room while he brewed Sirius a very strong cup of coffee. Still giggling delightedly, drunk on the events of the day more than the drink that had been pressed on them, they were all too happy to retire and have a celebration of their own.

 

~*~

 

An almighty roar of noise broke the sleepy silence of the morning, and Harry and Draco shot up in bed.

Harry couldn't make out the words, but he knew that voice anywhere—Lucius Malfoy. Why on Earth was Lucius sending them a howler at such an ungodly hour? Draco looked much paler than usual as they jumped into a pair of pyjamas and their dressing gowns. They hurried into the kitchen hand in hand, wondering what all the fuss was about.

“What happened this time?” Harry asked; the identical thin-lipped expressions on Remus and Sirius's faces told him that whatever it was, it wasn't good.

Sirius didn't say a word, and instead pushed the morning's edition of the _Daily_ _Prophet_ over to them. Harry felt his jaw drop.

  
  


_BREAKING: SOLE MALFOY HEIR AND THE BOY WHO LIVED TO BOND_

  
_ The  _ Daily Prophet _ can exclusively reveal the surprising engagement of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, made official yesterday, 14 th September. _

_Following his rescue three months ago, Mr Potter has rarely been seen in public. Many close to him cite his recovering mental state, though little is known of his capture, captivity, and subsequent rescue. In light of what he was purportedly exposed to, the fact remains that no experienced Healer can lay claim to keeping Potter under observation during his recovery._

“ _His guardians did not even bring him in,” said Michael Kirkpatrick, Trainee Healer for Mind Damage, “this leads us to believe that Mr Potter's weakened mental state was either greatly exaggerated, or the protectiveness of his guardians barred him from accessing the necessary treatment he needs.” Madam Poppy Pomfrey, Matron for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry admitted to treating Mr Potter immediately following his rescue, but declined our request for an interview._

_Many of our older readers will remember the shocking announcement of Mr Potter's Coupling to Draco Malfoy in the winter of 1982, and later their Bonding announcement in the summer of 1999. The Malfoy family was noted for their Dark affiliations during the peak of You Know Who's reign of terror, and though later the Malfoys were exonerated for reasons unknown, it is well known that that request came at the hands of the late Albus Dumbledore. Following the Coupling announcement, many were shocked that the Saviour of the Wizarding World appeared to be set to marry into a family of Death Eaters—also reportedly part of You Know Who's inner circle. However, Mr Potter seemed to be in the clear following his kidnapping and rescue._

“ _It was well documented that the contract had been nullified when Mr Potter had been kidnapped,” says Deidre Potts, of the Ministry Archives, “one can only guess why Mr Potter would feel compelled to follow through with the engagement now.”_

_Many experts believe a particularly well-placed Confundus Charm or love potion could explain Mr Potter's misguided affections. However, it is possible that the answer is less magical, and more psychological. It has been reported that following Mr Potter's rescue, he is rarely seen out of the company of Draco Malfoy, and it can be confirmed that the Malfoy heir has been living with Mr Potter and his guardians since his rescue. This has led many to believe that Mr Potter's dependence on the young heir to be much deeper and possibly dangerous than anyone could have anticipated._

“ _The entire situation deeply concerns me,” says Matilda Beckett, of the Auror Office, “Mr Potter's sudden reappearance coincides with the sudden death of Professor Severus Snape, of Hogwarts School. He was last seen alive at the Malfoy's annual Beltane Ball, and it is believed that Mr Malfoy was at the very least witness to the Potion Master's untimely death. I cannot reveal all the details, but the man's murder was not even brought to trial. It is not a far stretch to assume that gold must have changed hands in order to prevent anyone going further with this investigation. If I were Mr Potter, I would tread very lightly—there is no telling what someone from a family like the Malfoys might do if things don't go their way.”_

_Guests from the Ball claim that Professor Snape had been there under heavy disguise—purportedly as Mr Potter himself. While many claim that it was the late Potions Master himself who was responsible for Mr Potter's kidnapping, these accusations are little more than hearsay, and it would not be difficult for many guests to be coerced into parroting a truth that the Malfoys would want to be heard. For the right amount of gold, anyone can be bought._

_One can only hope that Mr Potter will come to his senses before it's too late, and he finds himself tied to such a questionable family for the rest of his life._

  
_Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondant_

_(See p. 7, 9, and 14 for exclusive interviews with longtime friends of Mr Potter)_

  
Below the headline was a clear photograph of him and Draco from the day before, locked in a very heated embrace.

“How in the hell did she find out?” Harry demanded while he pushed the paper away with disgust, “and what's that rubbish about Draco? She made it sound like you're abusing me or something!” He turned to Draco, who had been sitting quietly the entire time, his face unnervingly calm.

“That's what Rita Skeeter excels at, unfortunately,” Remus said with a frown while he rolled up the paper and used a banishing charm to send it zooming across the flat and into the fire.

“Do I even want to know what those...what was it?  _ Interviews with my longtime friends _ said?” Harry spat the words bitterly, while he glared down at the scrubbed tabletop.

“Probably not,” Sirius replied with a grimace as he pushed a cup of coffee towards each of them along with a plate of sweet rolls. Harry plucked one off the plate and picked it apart sullenly, but did not eat it. “Mostly it was quotes taken out of context from a number of your old classmates.” Harry felt such a deep rage that for a moment, he felt as though he might be sick. By the use of  _ mostly,  _ he wondered if Ron had offered the bitch an exclusive interview.

“Is murder always a crime?” Harry asked, and Sirius laughed softly to his question, but shook his head a little.

“I think it might be best to ignore this article. Responding to them directly will likely add fuel to the fire, and there's no guarantee that what you say will be reported accurately,” Sirius replied and Harry grimaced at his words, but as hr recalled the press fiasco in his fourth year, he knew that that would probably be best. As hard as it was to sit back and do nothing, he didn't want to do something stupid and make it worse.

“Yeah, easier said than done,” Harry muttered while he folded his arms across his chest. Draco was still quiet, staring down at the tabletop similarly to how Harry had, his gaze pensive. After a few minutes of tense silence, he looked up towards Sirius.

“I'm assuming by our wake-up call that my father has seen the article?” Draco asked, his voice even, and when Harry turned to look at him, he noticed that he was carrying a cold, closed-off expression. The unreadable expression disturbed Harry almost more than the article had. He reached for Draco's hand, and he clutched onto him with a vice grip.

“He's a little upset,” Sirius replied with a frown while he pressed his thumb and forefinger to his chin thoughtfully. “Don't misunderstand, he doesn't disapprove of Harry, not that he'd ever admit it. He's more upset about that Skeeter woman dragging the name of Malfoy so effectively through the dirt.” Sirius smiled bitterly while he looked across the table at the young couple, “I believe he is angry with us for not advising you,” he nodded at Draco, “to use more discretion in your proposal.”

“What should we do in the meantime?” Draco asked uncertainly, and at this, Harry couldn't help but grin.

“I thought that was obvious,” Harry replied while he turned to Draco and arched a brow, “we have a bonding ceremony to plan.”

 

~*~

 

Draco felt as though he should have known better than to assume that he and Harry would be able to plan their upcoming celebration without interruptions.

In the days following the publication of Rita Skeeter's nasty article, Draco received a number of letters from  _ Prophet _ readers, which he only stopped opening after Remus had noticed a particularly nasty curse attached to one of them. Nevertheless, the words from the ones he had opened seemed to have been scorched into his mind.

  
_You are a wicked boy and a murderer and will get what's coming to you._

 

_Harry Potter deserves better and if you know what's good for you you'll let him go._

  
_How dare you take advantage of him after all that poor young man has been through!_

  
Draco huffed in frustration, and tossed the letters into the fire every time. The words stung, but Harry's anger on his behalf muted the pain somewhat. 

  
“How  _ dare  _ they!” Harry spat, virtually shaking with anger every time another letter showed up for his fiancé, “fucking vultures. If they had  _ any  _ idea what you did for me...” Harry would dissolve into a nonsensical rant, while Draco looked on with an amused smile. The word  _ murderer  _ made him more sick with anger and shame than he wanted Harry to see, and he always waited until he could politely excuse himself to their room or the loo before he allowed himself to crumple. He could not— _ would not  _ let Harry see how deeply the word had cut. 

After Draco helped Remus destroy the third curse-laced letter that had come for him, he sank heavily into one of the armchairs while he watched the parchment writhe and shriek as it curled into ash. “I'm starting to wonder if it would be such a bad idea to address the article before it gets any worse,” Draco said. Remus frowned a little, but Draco pressed forward before the older man could interrupt, “for all we know, the next thing will be someone breaking into the flat and hurting me, or Harry, or one of you.” He shivered at the horrible thought, “I would never be able to live with myself if anything happened to any of you.”

Remus sank down into the armchair opposite. He regarded Draco with quiet contemplation for a moment before he finally spoke, “I have a journalist friend...she usually publishes her work abroad, but I can see if she would be willing to conduct an interview with us.” He paused, his gaze shifting to the fire in the grate. “We'll need to discuss with Harry whether would be comfortable talking about what happened or not, and how much we're all willing to reveal.”

“I'll tell them every dirty detail if it clears this whole mess up,” Harry's sudden voice made Draco jump, and he turned to see his fiancé glaring towards the remnants of the cursed letter in the grate. “We can't get anything done with all these mad rumours making the press. And maybe—” he cut himself off and shook his head. Draco wondered if Harry was thinking of a certain gangling ginger. Perhaps Weasley would come to his senses if he knew  _ all  _ the details. 

He hoped for Harry's sake that he would.

 

~*~

 

“I must say, I was  _ very  _ surprised when you contacted me, Remus,” said Clemency Eaton, a polar opposite to Harry's vivid memories of Rita Skeeter. 

Dressed in simple plum robes, her dark brown hair was cut very short, and she wore an easy, kind smile. Unlike Rita, her smile reached her wide, hazel eyes, and Harry immediately felt as though he could trust her. “Of course, Mr Potter,” she continued, “your story is a dream for any journalist, but you've always been rather private, have you not?” She shifted her gaze from Remus to Harry, and even under her calculating eye, Harry still felt much more at ease than he ever had in the presence of the devil woman. 

“Yeah, I suppose,” Harry replied, “I mean, I get enough press by sneezing in public, I'd rather not add fuel to the fire if I can help it.” Clemency laughed and nodded in understanding.

“Naturally. Now, tell me, how would you like to do this?” she asked, “I won't print anything that you're not comfortable with, so perhaps first you would like to tell me any topics that you would rather we not discuss?” Harry's eyes widened at the question. Was this woman for  _ real _ ? He exchanged a look with Draco, who nodded once, encouraging him to continue.

“To be honest,” Harry said, I think the more we cover, the better. I don't want there to be any doubt about what Draco has done for me.” Draco squeezed his hand, while his parents exchanged a look. Harry felt his stomach twist with momentary anxiety; this would be the first time that Sirius and Remus would hear specific details of his capture, and Harry wondered how they would take it. At the back of his mind, he felt a niggling root of fear—would they see him differently after they knew everything? He took a steadying breath and focused his attention on their guest. Regardless how this played out, Harry knew that he needed to tell her the whole story.

“Excellent,” she said, and that familiar journalist's gleam sparkled in the woman's eye as she pulled out a scroll of parchment and a quill. The shape of the quill reminded Harry of a Quick Quotes Quill, except it was a vibrant, electric blue instead of acid green. Seeing Harry's dubious expression, she smiled.

“Not to worry, Mr Potter,” she said, “this is a Transcription Quill, not a Quick Quotes Quill. It will copy your answers to my questions word for word, with none of the flowery filler its cousin is known for.” Harry felt himself relax, while Clemency smiled at him, perhaps in an attempt to reassure him. “Now, shall we begin?” she asked, and Harry smiled.

“Yeah, okay.”

  
For the better part of three hours, Clemency Eaton grilled Harry on every tiny detail of the Lughnasadh Ball, his kidnapping, and his captivity. Harry was amazed how calm he felt telling the story; with each question that he answered, he felt as though that part of the experience dissolved from his mind, and left him feeling lighter, and more relaxed. It was much more therapeutic than he had expected it to be, but he had to force himself to keep his eyes forward at all times. With each revelation of the lengths Snape went to in trying to force Harry to accept his proposal, his parents and fiancé looked more and more distraught when they realized just how badly Snape had treated him during those five years.

As Harry spoke, the images of his captivity flitted across his field of vision. It was as though someone had begun playing a film, and it alarmed Harry just how detailed his memories of his captivity were—Snape telling him about how the curse worked, Snape restricting the food that he brought, and threatening to starve Harry if he continued to refuse, Snape pushing him down and forcing his mouth on him, Snape transfiguring his robes into uncomfortably tight and revealing ones, while his eyes roved over Harry's form hungrily. Harry shivered, and banished the memories with each word that he spoke.

When it came time to describe Harry's final breaking of the curse, Clemency turned her attention to Draco, who was much more emotional than Harry in his retelling. Harry squeezed Draco's hand gently as he relived his actions, and he could feel his partner's palm slick with sweat. It hurt Harry deeply to see that Draco was still so traumatized by what he had been forced to do, and as the story moved to their recovery, Sirius and Remus shared in the telling. As evening gave way to night their story finally came to an end, and Clemency shuffled the thick sheaf of parchment the had collected, looking rather pleased.

“Well, I'm sure that _ this  _ will shut up more than a few biased readers,” she said brightly, then turned to Harry and her triumphant expression softened. She reached forward and grasped one of Harry's hands in both of her own. “Thank you very much for sharing your story with me, Harry,” she said, “I am truly sorry for what you have been through; you are an incredibly courageous young man, and it is clear to me that you two love each other very much.” She smiled faintly, “I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

“Er—thank you, Ms Eaton,” Harry said while he felt his face colour slightly, “when do you think the article will be published?” she smiled at the question, and a mischievous glint sparkled in her eye as she let go of his hand.

“I'll need to contact a few publications to see who would be interested in running the story—not that I expect them to refuse,” she explained, “you've given me enough material to write a book, so I'll have to go over everything, and I should have the article ready to go before the week is out. Do you wish to read it before I send it off?”

“No, I trust you,” Harry replied at once. Though felt as though the concept of trusting a journalist's word in any capacity was something of an oxymoron, after meeting her, he could see why Remus would suggest her—she wasn't interested in tearing people to pieces, she only wanted the truth.

“Well then,” she replied with a smile, “I'll be sure to let you all know when it will be released. Good day.” She gathered up her parchment again and tucked it inside her robes, then disappeared into the Floo. Harry slumped back against the sofa, feeling more like he'd had a particularly difficult Quidditch training session, instead of talked for a couple hours. Everyone was very quiet, and Harry knew that they, too, were worried what the outcome of The Interview might entail.

 

~*~

 

While Draco was anxious to make that foul Skeeter woman eat her words, their impending bonding ceremony gave him plenty to think about in the meanwhile. They had relocated temporarily to the Malfoy Manor, given that they would have more space there to organize and plan.

Harry was extremely reluctant to spend time in a place that had been the backdrop to both his kidnapping and his near-death, but with Draco practically glued to him at all times, Harry seemed to be much more at ease. While the upcoming nuptials filled Draco with a mixture of mind-numbing fear and insane joy, he could not deny that watching his fiancé argue heatedly with his father was quickly becoming his new favourite form of entertainment.

“Mr Potter, do be reasonable!” Lucius protested, “the Malfoy family has an  _ image  _ to maintain, and in light of Miss Skeeter's most recent smear tactic, it is important that we make this an event to—”

“The last two  _ events  _ here either involved me getting kidnapped or nearly killed,” Harry retorted, “Excuse me if I don't want to tempt fate!” 

“You will regret your ridiculous paranoia when you look back on your bonding if you insist on such a small affair!”

“I don't need to invite the entire wizarding population of the northern hemisphere to our bonding. It's  _ our  _ day. I won't let you turn it into some sort of press circus.” He stared Lucius down, and Draco struggled to swallow his laughter.

“Having key Ministry officials attend your bonding would be an excellent opportunity for you to make important contacts for later in your life,” Lucius protested, “it's  _ practical _ , Mr Potter.”

“Yeah, no,” Harry countered while he let go of Draco's hand to cross his arms across his chest stubbornly, “this is a bonding, not some Ministry Gala. I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, I won't have it.”

Grumbling about stubborn Gryffindors, Lucius stood and stormed out, slamming the door loudly behind him. During the exchange, his mother had looked on with her lips pressed together into a thin line. Draco knew that she thrilled that he was finally settling down, and he guessed that she was reluctant to say anything that might tempt the couple to call it off.

“Am I interrupting?” a sudden voice said, and Draco and Harry spun towards the overlarge fireplace to see Remus's head perched in the fire with a smile on his face.

“Yes, please do!” Harry said with a smile, clearly thrilled at any distraction that would put off another argument with his father-in-law to be. In a moment, Remus tumbled onto the hearth with a copy of the  _ Daily Prophet  _ in one hand, and a small scroll of parchment in the other. 

“Well, it's been printed,” he said, still smiling. Draco felt himself relax a little. Remus handed the paper to Draco, and Harry leaned in close to read it. 

 

_ The Truth at Last: Harry Potter's Harrowing Years in the Hands of a Madman. _

 

Below the title was a more conservative photograph of himself and Harry hand-in-hand, the angle clearly showing off the ring that he had given him the week before. The article that followed filled Draco with an elated, light feeling. True to her word, the article detailed everything from the ball, to Harry's capture, his confinement, the curse, and his rescue in exact detail. Now that it had been made clear that there was no trace of the curse left on Harry, they were free to discuss it with no fear of Harry being hurt, which made Draco feel as though it added a distinct legitimacy to their story. 

Draco passed the paper to his mother when they'd finished, and he eased back against the leather sofa.  _ Finally, the truth.  _ Draco hoped that they hadn't made a massive miscalculation in laying themselves bare like that while he glanced up at Remus and noted that he was still holding onto the small scroll of parchment. 

“This also came for you, Harry,” Remus said while he passed him the tiny scroll, and Harry broke the seal quickly, his brow creased with curiosity and worry. His eyes darted back and forth across the page, and his expression quickly melted into a small smile of amusement. Before Draco could ask, Harry passed it to him, and Draco recognized the untidy scrawl at once.

 

_Harry—_

 

_Mate, I'm so sorry._

_Hermione made me read the article this morning, and I can't imagine what that must've been like for you. Come by soon and we'll talk. Bring Draco if you like, I promise I won't try to hex him this time._

  
_Ron_

  
Draco chuckled as he set down the letter, “a Weasley owning up to his mistakes,” he said, “ _ now  _ I've seen everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: An Infinite Stone is a real thing, not something I made up. [Link](http://crystal-cure.com/pics/infinite-stone.jpg) It's a form of serpentine, so I thought it was appropriate, haha. (For anyone interested in crystal healing, while traditional serpentine is/was used primarily to protect from snake bites, an Infinite Stone is believed to draw out physical pain from the body, as well as to help the mind move forward from emotional trauma.)


	19. Spontaneity

Chapter 19 – Spontaneity

  
Harry fell back onto Draco's bed, and immediately he grabbed a pillow to bury his face in.

“I can't take it anymore,” he mumbled, his words muffled, “either we're gonna have to elope, or I'm gonna murder your father.”

The past weeks had been less than fun, and the majority of it had been he and Draco trying to keep the ceremony's guest list as short as possible, while Lucius was more interested in inviting every member of the Ministry of Magic. Narcissa, Remus, and Sirius had had to intervene several times before they came to blows.

“We'll work it out,” Draco said confidently, and Harry felt the bed dip as Draco stretched out next to him, then plucked the pillow from his hands. Harry turned and smiled halfheartedly at him, while Draco regarded him with a look of amusement. Draco had not been exempt from the shouting matches, and Harry had walked in on more than one heated argument between him and his parents, though they had been quick to quiet down whenever Harry appeared. It was strange, but he was too worn out by his own arguments to bother feeling overly curious.

Draco leant in and kissed Harry gently, then reached for his side table and pulled out a small glass bottle from one of the drawers. He coaxed Harry onto his stomach, while Harry enthusiastically peeled off the T-shirt he wore and tossed it in the general direction of his trunk.

Harry grabbed the pillow again and rested his head against it as Draco drizzled warm, scented oil along his spine. Harry let a soft moan escape his lips as Draco's hands went to work, massaging out the knots of stress his future father-in-law had caused earlier that day.

“He's just used to things going his way,” Draco said after a moment, his hands slowly moving up towards Harry's shoulders as he spoke, while he was perched comfortably against Harry's jean-clad buttocks. “People don't stand up to him often—he's not used to it.”

“Yeah well, if he doesn't get used to it soon I swear I'll drag you to a muggle chapel and get the whole thing over with,” Harry muttered, and Draco chuckled above him, but didn't comment one way or the other. Harry relaxed into the soft coverlet, his eyes fluttering shut. 

To say that his last few weeks had been  _ mad  _ would have been a massive understatement. Following the publication of the article, Harry and Draco were bombarded with owls from complete strangers as well as old classmates and friends. Each letter extended their heartfelt apologies for what the couple had gone through, each one more sappy and apologetic than the next. After a point, they began to turn away the owls, lest the Malfoy Manor, as well as Sirius and Remus's flat, begin to resemble the Hogwarts Owlery. 

Of everything that had happened following the article however, Harry felt that Ron's attitude turnabout had to be the best part of it—Harry had a feeling that Hermione had a large role in helping Ron finally come to his senses.

  
“Mate, I—I just...I thought Malfoy was exaggerating when he told us about... _ y'know, _ ” Ron said sheepishly a week earlier. He had been sitting on the sofa in Sirius and Remus's flat, Hermione next to him, with Harry and Draco occupying the armchairs opposite. Harry had known that Draco had given Ron and Hermione an abridged version of what Harry had gone through, leaving the details for Harry to share or not after he'd recovered. The article saved Harry having to tell them more of the gory details in person, though he was still not entirely sure if that had been a good move or not. Draco's fingers tangled with his, and while Ron had cast his ring a fleeting glance, to his credit he  _ was _ trying—or as much as Ron reasonably could—and didn't comment. 

“Yeah, I wish,” Harry replied with a bitter smile, “no, the whole article is true, every word.” At this admission, Ron had blanched, while Hermione had looked on with a small frown. The exchange confused Harry, and his expression shifted to a scowl.

“Why would you think I'd make anything like that up? Do you seriously think I'd trust someone who was a Dark Wizard in  _ any  _ capacity?  _ Seriously _ ?” Ron's ears went rather red and he looked away, but Hermione nudged him sharply, and his gaze snapped back to them. 

“No,” Ron replied eventually, “I know you better than that, at least, I thought—think I do. I think part of it was the whole thing with Hermione, sort of—er—made me not really see clearly.”

“ _ That  _ is an understatement, Weasley,” Draco remarked. His comment got him something of a halfhearted glare, Ron's hand jerking as though he wanted to go for his wand, but thought better of it at the last moment. 

 

At the memory, Harry felt a little more of his tension fade away. While the conversation was far from fun, it had at least cleared the air, and Ron had gone back to being halfway decent to his fiancé.

Harry's mind shifted back to the present, the warm weight of Draco on him, and his hands on his back. He let out a soft moan, his thoughts shifting to the more immediate past, as well as the stacks and stacks of plans they'd attempted to go through that day. Most of the planning had devolved into verbal boxing matches between Harry and Lucius, while everyone else looked on with varying levels of interest. It occurred quite suddenly to Harry that though they'd been planning their bonding for some weeks already, Draco had hardly put in his opinion one way or the other.

“When you think of our ceremony,” Harry said following the sudden thought, his words slow and almost slurred from Draco's practised hands effectively turning him to jello, “what do you picture?” Draco's hands paused momentarily as though the question had caught him off-guard, then almost immediately they resumed their gentle ministrations.

“In the past, I may have been with my father,” Draco began, his thumbs rubbing slow circles against the small of Harry's back, “something big, flashy...but now...” his paused again, Harry felt him shift slightly in a way that made him guess that he probably shrugged. “Our track record with big parties isn't exactly a great incentive to have another. I'd be happy if it was just us and our respective parents.” Draco's oil-slicked hands slipped beneath the waistline of Harry's jeans, and he moaned softly.

  
“At least we're on the same page,” Harry replied while he lifted his hips to help Draco peel him out of the garment.

“We could always just curse my father until everything's over, instead of murder. Less paperwork,” Draco said smoothly, and Harry chuckled as he rolled over to meet his fiancé's lips in a kiss.

 

~*~  
  


Even after being back at the Manor for several weeks, Draco was still unaccustomed to waking to the sight of the dark canopy of his bed, instead of the pale white and blue of Harry's bedroom. While part of the reason of moving to the Manor was more space to plan—the flat had felt uncomfortably full with six people crowded around the tiny kitchen table, and the disdain his parents showed for the space made it no easier. Draco made the executive decision that it might be best to move their so-called base of operations over to the Manor. The other half of it, of course, was for Harry to re-acquaint himself with Draco's parents.

Draco had no idea what his father expected to see in Harry, but his meek shyness was completely gone, and he boldly stood up to his father's manipulation attempts at every turn. Draco suspected it had something to do with having to deal with Snape for five years, the perfect embodiment of Slytherin house if he'd ever seen one. Lucius was most displeased that he couldn't get his way, and while Draco had always held a deep respect for his father, he could not deny that seeing him being taken down a peg or two was highly entertaining. For all the arguments and temper-tantrums however, they could all agree on one thing: They wanted the bonding to take place as soon as possible. He and Harry had waited for this for five years after all, and they saw no reason to put it off any longer.

Now in the haze between sleeping and waking, Draco's gaze fell on the naked and delightfully dishevelled form of his fiancé. Harry was curled almost in a foetal position, his glasses leaving red indentations against his temples, and his hair sticking up much more than usual. The entire sight made Draco's heart speed up, and he shifted forward to comb his fingers through the thick, dark locks.

The gentle contact was enough to rouse him, and after blinking several times, Harry's brilliant green eyes found Draco. He smiled sleepily, and shifted closer to him.

“Morning,” Draco said, while he enjoyed the delightful feel of skin against skin. “You ready for another shouting match with my father?” 

Harry chuckled softly at the question, but instead of answering properly, he buried his face in Draco's chest and promptly went back to sleep. 

Or, at least, Draco  _ thought  _ he was asleep—that is, until he felt Harry begin to press gentle kisses across his chest, and paused to suckle on his nipple, which caused Draco to tilt his head back and groan softly. The contact caused his cock to stir, and he pressed the half-hard appendage into Harry's thigh. 

“Well it  _ is  _ a good morning after all,” Harry said against his chest while he trailed his hand down his abdomen and towards his hardening member.

“You're insatiable,” Draco muttered, his peaceful smile fading from his face when he gasped sharply, bucking feebly into Harry's hand.

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” Harry chuckled as he slowly stroked him, and Draco groaned in frustration at Harry's infuriatingly slow pace. Harry's mouth attached itself to Draco's nipple again, twirling over the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue. Draco reached up and clutched at Harry's hair, whimpering from the sensations running through him. Then just as suddenly, Harry stopped.

Draco's eyes flew open, and his mouth dropped open to utter an angry protest, but he quickly realized suddenly that Harry had other plans this morning than just a casual hand job between lovers. Breaking his hold on the nipple, he gently coaxed Draco onto his stomach. He turned over enthusiastically, gasping sharply as he felt the distinctly uncomfortable sensation of lubrication and preparation charms rush through him. Much less enjoyable than other methods of stretching, but Draco could tell Harry had lost all his patience in the fog of his morning arousal.

Draco groaned as he felt his entrance breached by Harry's delightfully thick cock, and he buried his face in the rumpled bedsheets, slightly muffling his pleasured groans. Harry groaned behind him, moving his hips in awkward, hurried thrusts. Draco moved his hand to his own erection and stroked himself in time with Harry's delicious assault on his backside, and it took very little time for their intermingled cries of orgasm to reverberate around the room.

The pair fell into the bed in a tangle of limbs, both breathing deeply as they came down from the high. “A  _ very  _ good morning indeed,” Harry said with a grin, and Draco laughed.

 

~*~

 

After showering and dressing, the couple joined Lucius and Narcissa for breakfast. It was a much more formal affair than what Harry was used to, and the conversation was always stiff and uncomfortable.

“Draco, Harry,” Lucius said while he nodded to each of them in turn, and they sat across from the older couple at the table. Harry still felt a little strange at hearing Lucius refer to him as, 'Harry' instead of, 'Mr Potter', but he hoped that maybe it was a sign that the man no longer saw him as a child.

“Good morning Mr—Lucius,” Harry replied, and he felt his face grow slightly warm. Lucius had asked Harry to address him by his first name more than once over the last few weeks, but he was still trying to break the habit of referring to him as Mr Malfoy. “Narcissa,” Harry said while he nodded to her, and she offered him a small smile in return.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked while simple but rich breakfast fare appeared in the centre of the table. Lucius served himself, then everyone else followed.

“Er, yes, thank you,” Harry replied while he helped himself to a crumpet and some black coffee, hyperaware of his sub-par table manners as he watched everyone else. He knew that they weren't deliberately trying to make him feel awkward, but it was difficult to  _ not _ feel like that in a place like the Malfoy Manor. 

“Narcissa and I have been discussing your wishes for a small celebration,” Lucius said suddenly, as he wiped blackberry compote from the corners of his mouth with a napkin, “we will concede to your request, provided you agree to perform your bonding in accordance to the Old Ways of the Malfoy line.” The phrase gave Harry pause, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Draco roll his eyes.

“And what do these...Old Ways entail?” Harry asked uncertainly. The term sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.

“You will not be asked to sacrifice a virgin or eat a live squirrel, so you can stop looking so nervous, Mr Potter,” though Lucius spoke evenly, there was a distinct edge of irritation to his tone, and Harry barely managed to stop himself from flinching at the harsh words.

“Sorry, I didn't mean any offence,” Harry said quickly, and for once, he genuinely meant it. Lucius's expression seemed so soften somewhat as he watched him.

“The Old Ways are simply the procedure in which the Bonding ceremony is performed,” he explained, “a Priest and Priestess will be present, and you will be required to memorize a few lines of ritual verse. We can go over the specifics of the ritual with you, and I doubt that your parents will have any objections to it. As I recall, their own bonding ceremony was rather similar.” At the reference to Remus and Sirius, Harry's head snapped up in surprise.

“Really?” Harry asked, his eyes wide with surprise. Remus and Sirius rarely talked about their own engagement and bonding, save what Sirius had blurted out the night that Draco had proposed.

“It is a rather common practice among old Wizarding families,” Narcissa said patiently. “It is not difficult, nor is it uncomfortable.” Harry turned to Draco, and arched a brow as though to ask,  _ what do you think? _ Draco paused for a moment, then nodded his head minutely.

“All right,” Harry said, “that's fine with me.”

Finally getting Lucius and Narcissa to agree to a small ceremony seemed almost like the break they had been waiting for, and the plans ran so smoothly following the agreement that it left Harry feeling a little thrown. Things  _ never  _ went so well for him, and Harry kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did. That in itself was suspicious, though he had a feeling that much of the lack of argument may have been one-sided, as he occasionally caught Draco having heated, whispered arguments with his parents. Whatever it was about, Draco brushed Harry off muttering, “it's not important, don't worry.”

 

Whatever it was about, it all came to a head a week later.

Harry was walking down the stairs to the main level, intent on seeking out a house elf for a snack to fortify him for the afternoon ahead, when he heard Narcissa Malfoy's voice shriek, louder than he'd ever heard it. 

“YOU DID  _ WHAT _ ? THAT IS ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLE! HOW DARE YOU—DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY, STOP  _ RIGHT _ THERE!” Draco burst out of the parlour, his mother's shrieks following him into the hall, though he looked rather pleased with himself, instead of distressed. He looked up and saw Harry, and his eyes lit up in a very Fred and George Weasley sort of way. 

“Harry,” Draco said while he grabbed Harry by the upper arm and turned him around, “come on, we need to talk.” He hustled Harry back up the stairs and into his bedroom, while Harry's sputtered questions fell on deaf ears.

“What is it? What the hell was that about?” Harry asked breathlessly as Draco pulled him inside, closed the door, and locked it with a flick of his wand, “you're making me nervous.” Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek while he fell into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

“No, it's nothing  _ bad _ ,” Draco explained quickly, “I mean, _ not really, _ ” he still looked mildly anxious, but pleased with himself about something, though his words did little to comfort Harry.

“Okay,” Harry replied, “then what is it?”

“Well,” Draco said while he sat next to him, and reached out to briefly squeeze Harry's thigh, “my parents informed me that they expect us to move in here semi-permanently, following the honeymoon.” He pressed his lips into a thin line, and Harry felt his gut twist uncomfortably. It was a small comfort that Draco looked no more pleased about this than he did. “So I er...did something.” He smirked a little, and Harry felt some of his tension drain away. In recent weeks, it seemed as though Draco had made it his life's mission to infuriate his parents at every turn.

“What did you do this time?” Harry asked with a grin, and Draco mirrored the expression.

“Well...” Draco began and his grin widened as he reached into his trouser pocket, and pulled out a simple silver key on a ring, “I may have bought us a house.” 

  
Harry's eyes bulged and his jaw drop open. 

  
_ A house?!  _

  
“If you don't like it we can annul the contracts and look elsewhere,” Draco added quickly, “but...yeah, my parents aren't too pleased.” Following his words his face went a little pink, and Harry couldn't stop the laugh that escaped him.

“You're too much,” Harry said, still chortling a little, “I mean, what possessed you to buy a  _ house _ ? Most compulsive shoppers buy  _ shoes,  _ Draco.” His blond partner chuckled, and he flopped back against the coverlet. Harry joined him at once, more amused that annoyed at him. Some aspects of his rich-boy upbringing were ridiculous, but strangely endearing at the same time. They both reached over at the same time, twined their fingers together, and Draco's thumb gently danced across the back of Harry's hand.

“Pretty much you,” Draco replied, “I didn't want you to be forced into living here, and I know you well enough to know that you wouldn't want to. I mean, I love my parents, but I know how they are.” Harry nodded, more in understanding than agreement, while he draped his free arm casually across Draco's chest. “I just wanted to have a place that was really  _ ours _ ,” Draco continued, “it's nothing insanely extravagant, but there's a backyard and space for guests to stay over, and maybe...rooms for children?” He sounded nervously hopeful, and Harry leant up to kiss him.

“It sounds perfect.” Harry replied with a small smile. He didn't want to spoil the moment by objecting to Draco's tentative question. Of course, he wanted to be a dad... _ someday.  _ Definitely not yet.

The following day, Draco took him to their new house. As promised, it was nothing over-the-top. If Harry were to label it, he'd call it upper-middle class. It was a simple two-storey redbrick house with a slanted roof, dark brown shutters, and thick flowerbeds all around the perimeter. The cobbled walkway up to the door was lined with country mallow and alkanet, and Harry marvelled at how the floral scents did not disturb him nearly as much as they once would have. That fact alone made Harry feel extremely proud of himself.

“Come on,” Draco said with an excited grin. He grabbed onto Harry's hand and led him up to the front door; he tapped it with his wand, and it yielded to him at once. They stepped over the threshold, and Harry felt as though he had walked into a photograph from one of Aunt Petunia's interior design magazines.

The main level was open concept; a front room to one side with two plush sofas around a coffee table before a white fireplace, where a fire was already crackling merrily. The floors were herringbone hardwood, and the walls a rich maroon. The front hall in which they stood held an ornately carved wooden cloak hanger, and the walls were a mixture of white and forest green, with light fixtures attached to the high ceilings similar to a chandelier, but not as ornate.

On the left-hand side of the main level Harry could see a set of french doors that led to a dining room and kitchen, as well as a curved staircase that led to the second floor.

“God, Draco, it's  _ gorgeous, _ ” Harry breathed the words as he kicked off his shoes and stepped forward. He could feel Draco watching him as he rested a hand against the mahogany banister. Even with the sleek, varnished wood under his fingers it didn't seem real. He turned back to him, “It's really ours?” he asked, and Draco's face split into a smile.

“It really is.”

Draco spent the next hour giving Harry the grand tour. Harry was tempted to ask how much the place had cost, but he kept the question to himself. The rest of the house was just as spectacular; Draco showed him around the dining room, kitchen, bathrooms, and bedrooms. Everything seemed to teeter between extravagant and middle-class, as though Draco wanted to spoil him with the best of the best, but also took into consideration what sort of place would make Harry feel at ease. That thought alone filled Harry with a delightful warmth that made him grin from ear to ear as he was dragged from room to room. 

The last thing Draco showed him was the backyard. They stood on a wide wraparound porch stained a dark, reddish brown, with a set of steps that led down to a wide expanse of green grass. A high fence of similar wood encased the property, keeping the spying of any muggle neighbours to a bare minimum. The farthest third of the yard had been filled with a garden, but what it normally contained Harry couldn't be certain. Given that it was almost December, at the moment it was little more than hard-packed dirt. Closer to the house was a towering alder tree, which cast a comfortable shade over half of the porch. 

“Do you like it?” Draco asked, while his tone carried the faintest quiver of worry, “because if you don't we can just—” Whatever Draco had intended to suggest was cut short as Harry drew him in for a kiss, overwhelmed with the gift that his fiancé had impulsively bought for them.

“I  _ love  _ it.”


	20. Rites of Passage

Chapter 20 – Rites of Passage

  
“Do you know what this is about?” Harry asked as he fumbled with the clasp on his travelling cloak, while Draco waited patiently for him to finish wrestling with the garment. To Harry's question, he shrugged.

“No idea. Sirius just said we must, must,  _ must  _ show our faces at The Three Broomsticks tonight or face dire consequences.” 

“Yeah,” Harry replied with a small chuckle, “because we don't have  _ enough  _ going on as it is.” 

“It's just one evening,” Draco said as he shrugged, “I doubt the world as we know it will come to a halt if we take one night off.” Harry finally managed the clasp, and he took Draco's hand.

“Let's go then,” Harry replied and Draco smiled at him as they stepped out into the winter evening. 

The Manor's grounds looked spectacular, even more than usual with a light dusting of snow that seemed to make everything glimmer in the moonlight. Harry and Draco strode across the property and stopped just outside the front gates while Harry wondered absently what Sirius might be up to. Whatever he was planning, he had done a much better job this time around at not letting on what it was, but his godfather was extremely predictable, and Harry had a fairly good idea what this might be about.

Draco gripped tightly to Harry's arm, and they Disapparated.

The Three Broomsticks was alight with noise and sound, and even out on the main street the exuberance of the patrons inside could be heard easily. Draco straightened up next to Harry, and they exchanged a look.

“Any theories?” Draco asked, and Harry chuckled.

“Just one,” Harry replied, “c'mon, let's go.” Harry took his hand, and they walked side by side to the front doors of the pub. Harry's suspicions were confirmed at once by the blast of noise that met them when they stepped over the threshold.

Harry could see Sirius at the front of the crowd grinning like a maniac, and behind him was a sea of excited faces applauding and cheering for them. Harry could see Ron and the rest of the Weasley siblings—except Ginny—he spotted Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, Oliver Wood, Neville Longbottom, Lee Jordan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie Macmillan, Michael Corner, the Creevey brothers, as well as a number of Slytherin alumni that seemed to be trying to play it cool, and did not immediately join in with the excited cheering: Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Theodore Nott, and Zabini Blaise, as well as a handful of others Harry new by face, but couldn't name.

“Welcome,” Sirius said with a grin, “to that trite little rite of passage known as...The Stag Party.” Enthusiastic cheering following the announcement, and Harry went as red as Draco.

 

~*~

 

Compared to the last few parties that he and Harry had attended, this one seemed to be going much better than they could have anticipated. Though it was very possible that that belief had something to do with the copious amounts of alcohol being pressed into their hands at every available opportunity.

“To the Potter-Malfoys!” Charlie Weasley had cried when the second cask of firewhisky had been brought out, his arm draped over an unknown brunette wizard who was grinning widely, while Charlie had glass held high in a toast, “may they come to their senses before it's too late!” The pronouncement even had Draco and Harry laughing, and they raised their own glasses before downing the drink. 

  
About two hours into the party, Ron Weasley stood up and called for quiet with a few fireworks shot off from his wand.

  
“Everyone!” he cried, and slowly, the crowd turned its attention to him. He was smirking devilishly, which Draco knew was never a good sign. “As you all know, tonight we bid adieu to Harry and Draco's freedom,” he said, and a few obnoxious laments followed his words as everyone laughed. “In two days' time, they will bond and ascend to respectable wizarding society.” Draco smirked, but managed to keep himself from laughing. Weasley's trust of him was still shaky at best, though the ginger seemed to be making a genuine effort on Harry's behalf to be civil. “We pooled our money together for you two, and managed to get you something of a last hurrah.” He tossed something at each of them, and Draco caught his reflexively before he had a chance to look down to see what it was. He blinked. In his hand was dried palm twisted into a Celtic knot and attached to a thin leather cord. He looked over to Harry, and saw that he was holding onto the same thing. “You may want to hang onto those,” Weasley said as he grinned again.

Before Draco could ask, Ron began to applaud enthusiastically, and his questions were answered at once as low, sensual music began to fill the pub, and a young man dressed in next to nothing sauntered towards them, his hips swaying slightly with every step. Draco did laugh this time—a Veela exotic dancer?  _ Really _ ? Harry had gone rather red, and they both clutched to the charms as the man approached them. 

The man certainly lived up to the expectations of his heritage; he was tall, just over six feet, with broad shoulders and thick, corded muscle under peaches-and-cream skin. His hair was an artfully tousled silvery-blond, and his sea-green eyes seemed to glimmer in the low light. He stepped over to Harry first, and Draco smirked as he watched his fiancé go several different shades of red in quick succession. His blush became more pronounced as the Veela's considerable bulge, concealed under a thin pair of gold pants, came very close to his face. Around them their friends were cheering and wolf-whistling enthusiastically, while Draco howled with laughter at how embarrassed Harry was. When the music faded, Harry stood and bowed in spite of his embarrassment, and pressed some gold into the dancer's hand.

Draco's turn came, and this time it was Harry who looked on while he was subjected to a highly sensual lap dance, and he marvelled at the simple fact that his libido seemed entirely uninterested in the beautiful young man sizable  _ talent _ mere inches from his face. The charms that Weasley had given them were part of it, but Draco knew that the other part was the fact that he desired only one person in the room—and it definitely wasn't the Veela. At the end of it, he pressed some coin into his hand just as Harry had, while the others applauded the young man's performance enthusiastically. 

Draco turned to Harry with a grin, only to see that he was still rather pink. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blaise sweep in and intercept the Veela's departure. He smirked, and returned his full attention to Harry. they kissed briefly to obnoxious groans from onlookers, and another round of drinks was pressed on them.

The evening went on, with the Veela mysteriously disappearing along with Blaise, while he and Harry made the rounds. They spent time in equal measure with his and Harry's friends, the former he had seen precious little of in recent years. It was nice to catch up, and unlike the Weasleys' reception of him, the Slytherin alumni were more than welcoming of Harry, which was a pleasant surprise.

“Draco, do tell us,” Nott had said, with more dignified grace than Draco would have anticipated, given how glazed-over his eyes looked, “why did you think that we would disapprove of Potter? I mean, of all the Gryffindors I've had the misfortune of meeting, he is by  _ far  _ the most tolerable.” Harry rolled his eyes, but didn't look offended. “I mean, look at what you got up to while still at school! Your antics were almost...dare I say it,  _ Slytherin  _ at times. It was refreshing to see a Gryffindor that was not all blockheaded stupidity disguised as  _ courage  _ barrelling forward without a second thought. I must say, it made a great form of entertainment, especially watching our Draco here practically—” Draco lurched forward and clapped a hand to his mouth, feeling his face heat.

“Draco practically what?” Harry asked with a wide grin, his gaze flitting from one person to the next. Draco glared at the others, but they were having none of it.

“He spent half his life worrying about some of the stupid situations you got yourself into. It was always fun to see how distraught your fiancé would get every time you found another creative way to almost get yourself killed.” They laughed and Draco felt himself go, if possible, even redder. He let go of Nott, who was laughing with the others, while Draco tried to compose himself, with little success.

“Oh, really?” Harry said as he arched a brow and looked over to him as a small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, “well isn't that interesting.” Draco could feel that his face was still very red, but Harry did not use the chance to poke fun at him, and instead he cradled the back of Draco's neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. 

Distantly Draco heard a few onlookers laugh and groan, and when he pulled Harry closer to draw out the kiss, he heard one of the Weasley twins say, “oh Gods, they're gonna do it right here.”

The comment got a couple of laughs and they reluctantly broke apart, Harry grinning sheepishly, while Draco smirked and continued to hold onto him.

The evening went on in a whirlwind of too much alcohol, terrible sex puns, and their so-called friends making bets at their expense: Dean won ten galleons for betting that Harry would be the first to puke from too much mead, while Blaise pulled in fifteen galleons for correctly guessing where Draco and Harry would sneak off to for a quick grope. Even Neville got in on the fun, and won a grand total of thirty-five galleons for betting correctly when the pair would officially call it a night. Everyone cheered and slapped Neville on the back, and he flushed with pleasure.

Sirius had reappeared, having mysteriously disappeared for most of the evening. Grinning broadly, he escorted the stumbling pair to the Floo, and threw them into the green flames that would send them spiralling back to Malfoy Manor.

 

~*~

 

“You know what I'm going to miss about the Manor?” Harry said abruptly, and Draco rolled over to look at him. He was stretched out on his back, his arms folded up over the back of his head like a pillow, and he was staring up at the canopy of the bed while Draco lay sprawled out next to him. They were both more than a little hungover from the night before, and even after two doses of potion, Harry's head was still pounding. 

“Hm?” Draco's tone made Harry chuckle a little. Draco had made no secret of how much he was looking forward to moving into  _ their _ house and out of the Manor. Harry felt himself shiver a little; the idea still seemed ludicrous to him. A  _ house _ .  _ Their  _ house. It was more than he'd ever dreamed of.

“You _bed_ ,” Harry said, “it's so comfortable!” At this Draco snickered, and climbed on top of Harry. He pressed knees into the folds of the duvet on either side of his hips, and his buttocks pressed lightly into Harry's groin. Despite his pounding head, the contact made him groan softly.

“Of all the things to miss,” Draco chuckled again, and leant forward to kiss him. Harry moaned into kiss, but didn't move his arms to embrace Draco. Not that he needed to, as barely thirty seconds later his blond fiancé was clutching at him gently, moving his hands as though trying to map Harry's form to memory. “We could always just bring the mattress with us when we move, you know,” Draco murmured against Harry's mouth. He laughed, and leant up slightly to pull Draco in for another kiss. This time, he unfolded his arms to hold him close. 

“But seriously,” Harry murmured when they broke apart, Draco still perched in his lap, “it's gonna be weird sleeping without you.” Harry thought to the day ahead, then the coming evening. According to Lucius, tradition dictated that they were not to share a bed the night before their bonding. The idea did not scare Harry like it once would have, but he had grown quite used to a warm body next to his as he went to sleep. 

“It's just for one night,” Draco reassured him while he reached out and combed his fingers through Harry hair. The contact made his eyes flutter shut, and Harry sighed contentedly. “But it'll be weird for me too, if that helps.”

“I tried to get Sirius to lend me his two-way mirror set,” Harry said when he opened his eyes, his fingers moving to Draco's pyjama top, where he casually flicked open the buttons down the front of it as he spoke. At his partner's confused expression, he elaborated, “I give you one mirror, and I take the other, and we can talk to each other with them. Sirius wouldn't let me, though. He told me that he and my dad used to use them when they were in separate detentions at Hogwarts.” He laughed a little, “I guess it'll mess with the bonding magic or something.”

“Or it's because my parents would pitch a fit over the  _ indecency  _ of us having some kind of contact the night before our bonding. Their love of tradition knows no bounds, as I've sure you noticed,” Draco said as he he shrugged out of his shirt, and Harry leant in to trail of kisses along Draco's clavicle.

“I fail to see how it's  _ indecent _ for us to sleep together the night before our bonding, but it's totally fine every other night of the last two months,” Harry mumbled against Draco's skin, making his partner shiver a little. Draco didn't immediately answer, and Harry grinned as he slowly trailed his hands down the sides of his ribcage.

“Well, about that...” Draco's voice was breathy, but amused at the same time. Harry paused what he was doing, and looked up at his fiancé, who appeared very pleased about something. “Remember that guest room my mother put your trunk in when you first got here?” Harry nodded, remembering the pointed look Narcissa had given him when she showed him to the guest room practically on the other side of the house from the family bedrooms. “I  _ may  _ have charmed the room to make it  _ look  _ like you have been using it.” 

Harry snickered at the admission, while Draco shrugged, unashamed. “We're adults. Most of those traditions were for younger betrothed couples who may not have been of age yet. Just because my parents insist on treating us like we're sixteen doesn't mean we should actually  _ listen  _ to those rules.” Harry chuckled and pulled Draco in for a deep, open-mouthed kiss.

“You know what?”

“What?” Draco murmured the word against Harry's mouth, the hot breath tickling against his skin. 

“I love you.” Draco chuckled and pulled him in again.

Dressed—finally—in a set of casual dark blue robes, while Draco wore ones of deep green, they strolled down to the front room hand-in-hand.

Lucius, Narcissa, Sirius, and Remus were already there, the remnants of their hurried lunch sat on one side of the coffee table, with untouched sandwiches that had obviously been left for Draco and himself. The other half was overloaded with an alarming stack of parchment. Despite Harry's insistence that the celebration be small, the invitation list still managed to push well past seventy-five guests. To Lucius's credit however, he did keep it to family and friends only.

“Morning,” Draco said with a small smile as they stepped in, and the four older adults turned towards them as they entered. 

“Afternoon, more like,” Lucius replied, “officially slept off your hangovers then?” the Malfoy Patriarch's words were clipped, and Harry wondered if he'd disapproved of them attending an event like a Stag Party, though he couldn't be sure. Sirius, in contrast, was giving him a knowing look, and he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Remus elbowed him, and Harry struggled to keep the flush off his face.

“Yeah, something like that,” Draco replied while he and Harry sat down, and they both helped themselves to a sandwich. “What's all this, Father?”

“Last minute details of your bonding,” Lucius said, and Harry bit back a small groan. He was looking forward to it, but the planning, the constant stream of minute details, and the stressed, nagging parents constantly hovering over them had been maddening. “Following the bonding and reception, you are heading straight off for this...” Lucius grimaced, “...Moon...thing?”

“Honeymoon,” Harry corrected patiently, though it took a great deal of effort to keep from laughing. It had come as quite a shock that most wizards didn't practice it, but when he had explained the concept to Draco, he had jumped at the idea. “We'll be in Barbados for two weeks. I gave Sirius and Remus the emergency contact information last Tuesday.”

“It's here,” Sirius fished out a sightly crumpled sheet from the mess, and handed it to Lucius. The elder Malfoy looked over it, his lip curled in disapproval, but he didn't comment. Harry helped himself to a second sandwich while Lucius tapped the paper and made three copies, which he handed to his parents and his wife. 

“The next order of business...” Lucius riffled through the papers, and pulled out another scroll of parchment, “Mr Potter, your request to not have house elves cater the event...hiring witch and wizard servers can become rather expensive. Surely it would make more sense to use our house elves?” Harry sighed a little, and swallowed his mouthful of chicken and ham before he spoke. 

“Hermione Granger is one of my best friends, and she is dead-set against anything that involves house elves in a subservient role,” he explained, “I guarantee that if you insist on having them cater the event, she will definitely try to free them.” It hadn't been the first time that they'd had this discussion, and Harry prayed that maybe this time Lucius would realize that he wasn't exaggerating. 

“Silly girl,” he muttered, and Harry was impressed that the sneer at Hermione's expense had ended there. “All right, I will see what can be done about hiring wait staff.” 

 

The rest of the day passed slowly as Lucius went over every tiny detail of tomorrow's schedule. It was so draining that he was actually relieved when Sirius announced that it was time to go.

He and Draco stood at the doors, their fingers tangled together while they smiled at one another with barely contained excitement.

“Well, I'll see you tomorrow then?” Harry asked; Draco's face split into an excited grin, and he pulled Harry in for one last drawn-out kiss before they separated reluctantly at the sound of Narcissa's none-too-subtle clearing of her throat.

“Sleep well, Harry,” Draco said softly.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, “you too.”

 

~*~

 

Draco watched Harry and his parents descend the steps and cross the magical threshold of the Malfoy property. He did not move until he saw them Disapparate safely away. Without Harry at his side, Draco felt strangely lopsided, as though someone had taken half of his body away. He wasn't entirely aware that he was still watching the place where Harry had Disapparated from until a sudden hand rested on his shoulder.

He jumped sharply, and turned to see his mother standing there, looking rather startled. “I'm sorry, Mother,” he said quickly, “I just feel...strange.” Narcissa's expression relaxed into a knowing smile.

“Strange, as though part of your corporeal body is missing?” she asked, and Draco's eyes widened in surprise.

“Exactly. How did you know?” He asked, and something in her expression made Draco feel as though there was more to this than just being unused to having Harry nearby.

“It's love magic,” Narcissa replied with a small smile, this time with amusement at Draco's confused expression. “You care so deeply for one another that your magic reacts to the loss the same way it would with a physical injury. When you are apart, you can sometimes feel it when emotions are running particularly high.” Draco stared at his mother, uncertain what to say. Fleetingly, he wondered if she had ever felt that with his father, but at the same time he was almost afraid to ask. Narcissa leant forward and embraced her son, and after a brief moment of hesitation, Draco returned it. 

“Get some sleep, son,” she said when they had broken apart, her eyes shining in a way that Draco had not seen in a very long time, “you have a big day ahead of you.”


	21. For Better, For Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ritual I used is an adapted version of a Saex-Wica Handfasting rite, from Buckland's Complete Book of Witchcraft, by Raymond Buckland.

Chapter 21 – For Better, For Worse

  
Dawn broke cool and bright over London that day, and the city was blanketed in a fresh dusting of snow. 

Harry Potter was already awake and pacing in his bedroom. Hanging up on the door to his wardrobe was his bonding robes, and every time he chanced a look in their direction he felt his heart swell with a mixture of excitement and fear. 

This was it. 

It was  _ finally  _ here. 

Harry had waited five years and nearly six months for this day to come, and part of him still had difficulty believing that it was actually here.

He paused in his pacing and leant against the frame of his window. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, and he admired the way the first rays of light glinted off the snow. Harry looked back to the robes again, and his breath hitched. Pure white with a high collar, the sleeves, collar, and hem embroidered with Celtic knots in silver thread.

_ God _ , Harry thought, feeling warm excitement run through him,  _ it's finally here.  _ No matter how many times the thought crossed his mind, it still hadn't sunk in completely.

Harry stepped forward and brushed his fingers over the sleek material, and smiled wistfully as his mind recalled all the events that had led to this moment, and how after everything, he might actually get his happily ever after, after all. Harry retracted his hand, moved back to his bed, and fell back with a very satisfying  _ flump. _

Harry allowed a near-manic giggle escape him. 

In less than seven hours, he'd be  _ married _ .   
  


~*~

  
“Draco did you sleep at  _ all  _ last night?” Draco's mother demanded, and her tone wavered between amusement and annoyance.

“I couldn't sleep,” Draco explained, and didn't bother to try for his usual dignified tone that he usually used with his parents, “I was too excited.” 

He picked up a chocolate croissant and poured himself a coffee, while his father chuckled,  _ chuckled,  _ from behind his copy of the morning  _ Prophet _ . Draco couldn't remember the last time  _ that  _ had happened. He set down the paper and pushed a tiny vial across the table filled with a thick, syrupy, green liquid.

“Take it before the ceremony starts,” he said, “it will keep you from nodding off.” Draco laughed a little, and accepted the vial.

“Thank you, Father.”

 

~*~

 

“Harry, stop fidgeting!”

“I'm _not_ fidgeting!”

“Yes, you are!” Sirius said crossly, “sit still, I know what I'm doing.” Harry snorted at his godfather's reassurances. Like he believed  _ that _ . 

“The last time I trusted you with my hair you tried to curse it into staying flat. I'd rather  _ not  _ have bald patches today. Why isn't Remus helping me with this, anyway?”

“Remus had to go on ahead to help Narcissa oversee the setup,” Sirius explained while he went back to attacking Harry's hair with the comb, “I  _ promise  _ I won't try to curse your hair this time.” Harry snorted, but settled back in the chair, praying that Sirius's patience would hold out this time around.

 

~*~

 

Draco shifted from one foot to the other, and found himself deeply grateful for England's temperate climate. The bonding site was outdoors, and while tradition dictated that it should be done in a naturalistic setting, they had decided early on to keep away from wooded areas. Instead, they had chosen a grassy field well away from prying muggle eyes. Its green grass was just barely visible under the snow, and the nearby muggle village was just barely visible to the naked eye. Draco shivered and watched impatiently as his parents and Remus circled the area around the great, white tent, casting warming charms until the air was as pleasantly warm as a fine spring day.

Draco looked down at his watch. In fifteen minutes, the guests would start to arrive, then after that...he took a deep breath to try and settle his jangling nerves, but it didn't help as much as he'd hoped.

“Draco,” a sudden male voice said, and he turned to see Remus and his mother watching him with similar smiles of amusement, “If you don't breathe, you're going to faint.” Draco smile apologetically in answer to Remus's words, but forced a small nod.

 

~*~

 

Harry was practically bouncing with excitement as he watched the clock. Just ten more minutes, and then they could get going. 

His fingers smoothed over his styled hair, and Harry was still amazed that Sirius had managed to avoid using a curse—a magical curse, anyway. He could not recall hearing the phrase,  _ I hate your fucking hair, _ reiterated so many times in his life. Harry folded his arms behind his back and circled the main living area of the flat, then checked the clock again. Damn, eight more minutes.

“You're so calm, Harry,” Sirius said teasingly as he stepped out from his and Remus's bedroom in dress robes of blue and silver, “I would think you weren't excited  _ at all _ .”

“Ha, very funny.” Harry replied, and his mouth quirked into a small half-smile, “you'd be bouncing off the walls too if you had to wait five and a half years to bond with Remus.” Sirius chuckled at Harry's response, but didn't comment. Harry took the opportunity to ask a question that had been sitting at the back of his mind for the last few weeks. “Lucius said that you and Remus had a bonding ceremony in the Old Ways,” he said, “is that true, or was he just trying to make me agree to do it?”

“It's true,” Sirius replied with a wistful smile, with a faraway look in his eyes. “It was Remus's idea. My family was steeped in their pureblood mania, the dark arts, maddening Slytherin pride...everything that I stood against. I was more or less disowned by them when I left home and moved in with your father and your grandparents. After Remus and I got together and I proposed...” Sirius trailed off and Harry bit back a laugh as he remembered Sirius's drunken tale of his proposal to Remus some months before.“Well, Remus had always put a lot of stock in family, and of course my parents were horrified that I was bonding to not just a half-blood, but a _werewolf_.” Sirius rolled his eyes at the memory of the prejudice as he continued, “he thought that having a bonding ceremony in the Old Ways might help them be more accepting of him, and needless to say, it failed _abysmally—_ they refused to even come. My delightful mother sent back the charred remains of their invitation.” 

Sirius's mouth quirked into a small smile at the memory as he stepped over to a low cabinet and opened it, then proceeded to pull out a framed picture, which he handed to Harry. “It was still one of the happiest days of my life, though.”

Harry looked down at the photograph. It was of Remus and Sirius, some twenty years younger, grinning broadly in matching robes of white and silver waving excitedly at the camera. On either side of them Harry could see his father, his very pregnant mother, and Peter Pettigrew, the traitor.

Harry's stomach lurched at the memory of him and his botched attempt to revive Voldemort, but he forced himself to brush it aside. He recognized some of the other faces in the picture, but his eyes were trained on his birth and adoptive parents. He smiled a little, and handed the photograph back to Sirius, who tucked it away again.

“How come you keep it out of sight?” Harry asked when Sirius turned back to him, and he shrugged a little.

“It's not out of shame or anything,” Sirius replied, “we've been bonded for nearly twenty-four years, we don't feel the need to broadcast it. We have other photographs of our life and family that we would rather showcase.” Harry felt a faint flush of embarrassment creep up his neck at those words—a good portion of the 'family' photographs that adorned the walls and mantle of the fireplace were of him from age six onward. “But enough about us,” Sirius said with a smile, and cast a quick glance towards the clock. “I believe it's time for  _ you  _ to take the plunge.” 

Grinning from ear to ear, Harry all but ran for the door.

 

~*~

 

“It's time, Draco,” Lucius said, and Draco turned to see his father motioning towards the tent. He nodded once, and took another steadying breath. 

_ This is it,  _ Draco thought, his excitement practically coming off him in waves as Lucius turned from his son and led him inside. 

The guest chairs had been arranged in a semicircle around a space of grass, and in the centre of the semicircle was a long table adorned with flowers, a small clay pot of earth that was surrounded with feathers, seashells, as well as a smoking marble dish of sandalwood incense. In the centre on a soft cushion of woven hay sat two identical silver bands, differentiating runic symbols on either one. On either side of the rings were several more items for the rite, including a sword, a priapic wand, and two athames. 

Draco followed his father past the semicircle and off to the side, where he was to wait. Draco had studied the Old Ways since he was a child, and was fairly well-versed in what was expected, though the prospect of performing the rite himself had thrown him into a jumble of excitement and nerves.

He knew that by now Harry was here, and he'd get to see him soon. He felt as though it had been years since they'd seen each other, and his longing to see Harry again was almost painful.

From Draco's standpoint he could see the guests begin to trickle in and settle into their seats, while the priest and priestess swept up the centre aisle and stepped into the circle. The murmurs of the assembled guests went still at their appearance. The pair moved around the edges of the circle, murmuring as they approached the north, south, east, and west corners. When they had finished, they stepped toward each other behind the altar, and pecked a kiss of greeting.

Lucius, Sirius, Narcissa, and Remus stepped forward and entered the circle widdershins, then bowed to the priestess and priest in turn.

“There are those in our midst who seek to be bonded,” Lucius said in a clear, carrying voice voice.

“Let them be named and brought forward,” the priestess replied; her voice carried as clearly as his father's had, though it was much more high and girlish that Draco had expected it to be.

“Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter,” Lucius replied, and Draco stepped out along the aisle in between the edge of the circle and the first row of guests, just as Harry stepped out opposite him. 

Draco felt his feet falter and his breath catch as he took Harry in. Harry's reaction was similar, and Draco forced himself to move at an even pace, when all he wanted to do was run full-tilt at him.

Distantly, he could hear the soft tittering of the assembled guests, and the loud foghorn  _ honk _ of Rubeus Hagrid, already dissolved into an emotional mess. They stepped into the circle while Lucius and Narcissa moved to the left-hand side, and Sirius and Remus to the right. Draco and Harry moved forward to stand in the centre of the circle, across the altar from the priest and priestess.

“Are you Draco Malfoy?” The priestess across from him asked, and she spoke in the same clear, carrying voice.

“I am,” Draco replied in the same carrying tone that his father had used.

“What is your desire?”

“To be made one with Harry Potter, in the eyes of the Gods and those assembled,” Draco said; the words tumbled off his tongue clearly and easily, and he could see his parents smiling approvingly out of the corner of his eye. The priest focused on Harry.

“Are you Harry Potter?” he asked.

“I am,” Harry replied, the faintest tremor interwoven with his words.

“And what is your desire?”

“To be made one with Draco Malfoy, in the eyes of the Gods and those assembled,” Harry said; his voice continued to shake a little as he spoke, but his conviction was clear.

The priestess took up the sword and raised it high, while the priest picked up the priapic wand and handed it to Draco. He turned, and he and Harry gripped it with both hands. They shared a small smile as their eyes met:  _ we can do this _ . Some of the nervousness seemed to fade from Harry's expression. 

“Lord and Lady,” cried the priestess, “here before you stand two of your folk. Witness, now, that which they have to declare.” The priestess set down the sword, lifted her athame, and pressed the point against Draco's chest. He took a slow breath, and began to speak.

“I, Draco Malfoy, do come here of my own free will, to seek the partnership of Harry Potter. I come with all love, honour, and sincerity, wishing only to become one with he whom I love,” Draco said, his voice ringing with sincerity as he spoke. “Always will I strive for Harry Potter's happiness and welfare. His life will I defend before my own. May the athame be plunged into my heart should I not be sincere in all that I desire. All this I swear in the names of the Gods. May they give me strength to keep my vows. So mote it be.” Harry smiled broadly at Draco as he spoke, his eyes a little glassier than usual as he listened. The priest picked up the other athame, and he pressed the tip to Harry's chest.

“I, Harry Potter, do come here of my own free will, to seek the partnership of Draco Malfoy. I come with all love, honour, and sincerity, wishing only to become one with he whom I love. Always will I strive for Draco Malfoy's happiness and welfare. His life will I defend before my own. May the athame be plunged into my heart should I not be sincere in all that I desire. All this I swear in the names of the Gods. May they give me strength to keep my vows. So mote it be.” The athame was lowered, and Draco smiled encouragingly at Harry. His voice did not waver or start, as though he too had no second thoughts about being here.

The priest and priestess passed the rings through the burning incense, and Draco took Harry's free hand with his own, their other hands still gripping the priapic wand. The priest regarded them both with a calm calculating stare, and after a moment, he began to speak. 

“As the grass of the fields and the trees of the woods bend together under the pressures of the storm, so too must you both bend when the wind blows strong. But know that as quickly as the storm comes, so equally quickly may it leave. Yet will you both stand, strong in each other's strength. As you give love; so will you receive love. As you give strength; so will you receive strength. Together you are one; apart you are nothing.” 

“Know that no two people can be exactly alike,” the priestess spoke with the same careful calculation in her eyes that the priest had held them with mere moments before, “no more can any two people fit together, perfect in every way. There will be times when it will seem hard to give and to love. But see then your reflection as in a woodland pool: when the image you see looks sad and angered, then it is the time for you to smile and to love, for it is not fire that puts out the fire. In return will the image in the pool smile and love. So change your anger for love and tears for joy. It is no weakness to admit a wrong; more is it a strength and a sign of learning.”

“Ever love, help, and respect each other,” the priest said, “and then know truly that you are one in the eyes of the Gods.”

Around them, the joyful cries of their friends and family filled the air, “so mote it be!”

The priest took the wand from them and placed it back in its place on the altar. Draco took Harry's hand, and slid the ring in place. Harry copied him, his expression as he slid the ring onto Draco's finger almost glowing with unrivalled joy. Draco looked up at the same moment that Harry did, and their eyes locked.

Harry reached out and cradled the back of Draco's neck, while Draco wrapped his arms securely around Harry's waist. They kissed, the bonding magic swirling about them, warming Draco to his core, as though they'd been enclosed in a warm blanket. He could distantly hear the cheers from the guests, but his focus was trained on the love of his life—Harry. When they broke the kiss, Draco could see the pinpricks of joyous tears in his bonded's eyes. They turned and took their turns kissing both the priest and priestess; a light peck on the lips each. They stepped back, murmuring prayers of praise as they closed the circle.

Draco and Harry turned, and smiled broadly at the assembled crowd.

  
~*~

 

Harry could not recall being happier in his life. Grinning from ear to ear, hand in hand with Draco—his bonded,  _ at last _ . Before them was a veritable sea of faces, and none of them were anywhere near disapproval, and even Ron's glowing face amid the sea of ginger carried no hint of prejudice for Harry's bonded. The applause washed over him like a pleasantly warm gust of air, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Remus passing a handkerchief to Sirius. 

Lucius raised his wand high and the guests stood. In one sweeping motion circular tables appeared throughout the tent, and following the priest and priestess packing away the ritual tools, the altar itself was transformed to a long high table. Draco led him up to the table, a rush of familiarity washing over Harry at the sight of it. He and Draco sat in the middle, with their respective parents on either side.

After easing into the seat, Harry was only vaguely aware of Lucius standing and making a speech. He was so focused on Draco that he didn't catch much of it. He assumed it had something to do with food, due to the fact that seconds later the serving plates were piled high with rich, gourmet dishes. Harry exchanged a smile with Draco, and oblivious to the disapproving looks of the older adults on either side of them, they loaded their plates and proceeded to feed each other. They laughed and smiled, holding out tidbits for the other to taste, punctuating their meal with drawn out kisses.

A towering wedding cake followed the main course, a veritable mountain of whipped cream and fresh strawberries topping vanilla sponge cake, as well as sweet dessert wine. Harry and Draco continued to feed each other, on occasion deliberately missing their each other's mouth for an excuse to lean in and lick away the cream, ending it in a kiss. Harry felt as though part of him  _ should  _ be embarrassed, acting this way in front of his parents as well as his in-laws, but he couldn't find it in him to care. He was Draco's, and Draco was his.  _ Finally. _ He was too happy to feel ashamed about the displays of affection that they shared. 

When everyone had eaten their fill, Draco stood and Harry followed his lead. Lucius lifted his wand at the same moment, and the guests cleared away from the tables as they were pushed against the sides of the tent, and the centre of the area was left open for dancing. He and Draco descended to the grassy floor, and a solo piano permeated the silence with a slow, sweet melody. Harry let Draco lead, smiling faintly as he was twirled around the dance floor, the experience reminding him of their first dance together so many years earlier, though for once without the pain of what had followed.

“I'm still kind of in a dreamspace, y'know?” Harry murmured when Draco pulled Harry back to him. Other couples had begun to join them in dance as he spoke, but he paid them little mind.

“Yeah,” Draco agreed with a small smile, “it still doesn't feel real.”

“I keep waiting for something to happen, like...every time I got close to happiness it was snatched away by...someone.” Harry couldn't bring himself to speak the name of his tormentor, not today of all days, but the look in Draco's eyes told him that he knew exactly what Harry was alluding to. “But..so far everything been perfect.”

“You're not alone, and you will never be alone again,” Draco said, “I won't let anything happen to you.” Draco smiled warmly and pulled Harry in closer as they moved, while Harry felt an embarrassed flush creep up his neck at his bonded's words.

“Why does that sentiment make me feel like a damsel in distress?” he asked, while Draco chuckled a little and paused his movements to lean in and kiss him. Harry was certain that he felt his heart skip a beat.

“I'm fairly certain that no one would ever mistake you for a damsel in  _ any  _ capacity,” Draco replied with a small smirk, and he squeezed Harry's hands in reassurance. Harry still had some ways to go before he was entirely himself again, but letting himself be taken care of so completely was still something his ego had a hard time with. Not wanting to mar the day with dark thoughts and words, he leant in to kiss Draco as the song quivered to an end around them. 

They stepped off the floor hand in hand, and were immediately surrounded by people congratulating them on their bonding. Harry found the whole thing strangely overwhelming as he smiled and shook hands and shared hugs with friends, family, and extensions of Draco's family that he had yet to meet. He was regarded by the Malfoys with disdain, while the Black side was comprised mostly of people Sirius's mother had unceremoniously disowned, and as a result were far more open and welcoming.

The encounters that had worried Harry the most was the Weasleys—Ron, in particular—but Harry quickly discovered that his concern was unfounded, as Ron had reverted back to how he'd interacted with Draco at the Lughnasadh Ball. While it was far from friendly in the general sense of the term, at least they weren't openly hostile, which was at least a step in the right direction.

“Can we sit?” Harry murmured fifteen minutes later when the crowd of well-wishers had begun to thin. Harry's excitement in the lead-up to the bonding ceremony had finally hit its peak, and it left him feeling exhausted.

“Gods, I hope so. Come on,” Draco replied while he tugged Harry's hand and they slipped off to a side table, and all but fell into two available seats. Draco clicked his fingers and a server Apparated over to them. He plucked two glasses of wine off their tray, nodded his thanks before the server Apparated away again. Draco pressed one of the glasses into Harry's hand. 

Harry sipped the drink, and at once leant his head back against the chair with a small groan; it was like he'd swallowed an apple orchard. Next to him he heard his bonded chuckle. 

“I guess you like it?” Draco asked, while Harry sat up and refocused his attention on Draco, a small smile playing across his lips.

“What was your first clue?” Harry asked while he took another sip of the drink, and let the wine play across his tongue for a moment longer before he swallowed it. Draco took his own sip, but his enjoyment of it was much more subdued, which disappointed Harry a little. “So, what happens now?” Harry asked as he turned in his seat and watched the guests while Draco draped an arm over his shoulders. 

Harry could see Ron and Hermione dancing across the grassy floor; Sirius and the Weasley twins were taking part in some sort of drinking game, with Remus close by, his face buried in his hands. Harry snickered a little at the sight, and looked back to his bonded. The word still sounded strange to him, but he loved the way it made him feel warm all over. The realization had hit him for the umpteenth time that he was  _ bonded. Married.  _ Harry felt like nothing in that moment could have made him happier.

“I'm not sure,” Draco replied eventually, “my parents weren't clear on the etiquette following the formalities of the rite and dinner. Our international portkey won't activate for another couple of hours, so what do  _ you  _ want to do?”

It was a strange question. In his youth and teenage years, he had grown used to being  _ told  _ what to do, and he was expected to obey, full stop. During his captivity, he was abused for five harrowing years, his tormentor _ telling _ him what he wanted, and using every dirty trick to try and get it. Now, here he was, doing what he wanted. At one time, the idea of being bonded to Draco Malfoy filled him with a dizzying panic, but now he felt like he was the luckiest man alive. 

“Mostly,” Harry finally said in answer to Draco's question, his mouth splitting into a grin, “I want to kiss you.” Draco grinned.

“Finally, something I  _ want  _ do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If anyone is interested, these are the runes inscribed on their rings. [Draco](http://postimg.org/image/a34y4b1wr/) [Harry](http://postimg.org/image/renu9izqj/)


	22. Happily Ever After/Epilogue

Chapter 22 – Happily Ever After

  
To take one breath in the damp cool air of the British Isles and the next in the warmth of the Caribbean was slightly disorienting.

Still in their Bonding robes they felt uncomfortably hot, and Draco could feel his skin beginning to perspire under the satin. It didn't matter; he could have been transported into an active volcano for all he cared—nothing could mar his perfect joy. Harry had crumpled into a heap from the force of the Portkey landing, and wound up dragging Draco down with him. Staggering to their feet amidst gales of mad laughter, Draco took the Portkey and tossed it to the ground where it blended in perfectly with the other seashells that danced up and down the wide expanse of the beach.

The term 'picturesque' barely did what he was seeing justice, in Draco's opinion. They stepped down from the Portkey arrival point, and they were faced with the blue of the Atlantic hugging a long, sandy beach, which gave way to thick, mountainous rain forest. Small homes dotted the landscape, but instead of being a blemish on the natural wonder that surrounded them, it only added to its charm. The beach itself was dotted with people—tourists, locals, and a mixture of muggles and wizards. Draco could pick out the wizards easily, while the muggles on the beach did not pass them even the briefest glance.

“Come on,” he said with a small smile, and tugged Harry in the direction of the hotel not ten feet from where they'd landed. Harry mirrored his smile, and they headed up to the building almost at a run.

The hotel was owned and run by wizards, and was less like a traditional hotel and more like a collection of small cabins. Each one faced the ocean, and the way the muggles passed them by without even a second glance reminded Draco suddenly of The Leaky Cauldron, but with a better climate.

Draco pushed his way into the lobby, another cabin completely indistinct from the others, save for the blatant  _ Lobby  _ sign that hung on the door. Draco held the door for Harry, who blushed a delightful shade of red at the gesture. The receptionist, a tall black woman with thick, braided hair was talking in rushed Bajan to a tall man, though she broke off as they approached. She eyed their attire with a knowing smile, and Draco felt a faint flush begin to creep up his neck

“Reservation for the Malfoy-Potters?” Draco said, and glanced at Harry as he said it. He grinned broadly at the words; any more of this, and Draco was certain his face might split open. “Our luggage came earlier today,” he continued, while the witch clucked her tongue as she sifted through a stack of parchment. 

“Ah, yes, here you are,” she said, and turned to grab a simple silver key off a hook before she stepped around the counter. She led them in silence out of the lobby and down through the village of suites, stopping at one near the end of the beach, slightly cut off from the others by a copse of trees, which gave them slightly more privacy. “This is you,” she explained, “the key will grant you access to the wards. You just need to tap the door with your wand, and it will open for you. If you need anything, please let us know.” She paused for a moment, then smiled warmly at them, “ and, congratulations.” Her eyes flitted briefly to Harry's scar, and Draco watched his bonded's face go a little pink.

“Thank you very much,” Draco replied, and the woman nodded once, her face still carrying the same warm smile. She spun on her heel and headed back to the lobby without a backward glance.

Draco wasted no time in tapping the door as directed, and they slipped inside. He could feel the warding magic shift back into place the second they crossed the threshold. It was bigger on the inside, and Draco grinned, watching the look of wonder that crossed Harry's face as he took in what he was seeing.

It was large space, closer to that of a conventional house, with a sitting room and fireplace with working Floo connection, a small kitchen containing what looked like room service menus, and doors off to the side leading to the loo and the bedroom. Everything was decked in light, inviting colours of greens and blues, and the large windows bathed the cabin in delightful midday sunshine.

“ _ God, _ ” Harry said the second they stepped inside, and promptly dropped out of his Bonding robes, and left them in a pile on the doormat. Harry stood there in a pair of less-than-flattering grey Y-fronts, looking downright  _ edible  _ to Draco, his skin practically glowing from the sheen of sweat that clung to him. Draco began to feel warm in an entirely different sense as Harry continued to speak, “It's so damn  _ hot. _ I thought I was gonna melt out there.” He turned to Draco, and he suspected that some of his shock showed on his face, as Harry grinned and strode over to him. 

Draco had only just began to get over his shock at Harry's abrupt strip show when the brunet coiled his arms around his neck and enveloped Draco in a deep, heated kiss. Harry's bare flesh clung slightly to Draco's robes, and he groaned into Harry's mouth.

Without waiting for Draco to respond to him, Harry began to unbutton the robes, and slipped his hands under the fabric. He slid his hands slowly up Draco's chest and to his shoulders, where he pushed the garment off. It pooled around Draco's ankles in a pile of overpriced satin while they absently kicked off the boots that they wore.

Draco scooped Harry up in his arms, he responding with a surprised squeak, while he clung to Draco's neck for support. This was probably a good thing, given that as it would turn out, Harry was  _ much  _ heavier than he looked. 

“Oh my God, Draco, put me  _ down!”  _ Harry demanded, while he squirmed in his hold. Draco ignored him however, and made a beeline for the bedroom. 

Draco let Harry down quickly once they'd reached the bedroom, and Harry immediately pulled Draco in for another kiss.

“You know,” Harry began, “it's technically still nighttime—in London, anyway.” Harry giggled against his mouth and Draco smirked into the kiss. “I say we...” Harry groaned and broke off as Draco's wandering hands began to trail down his sides and met at the small of his back, where they began to slip under the elastic of his pants. “...we have our bonding night first, and go surfing later.” Draco snickered, though the response was cut short by Harry's tongue diving back into his mouth.

“You won't catch me on one of those infernal muggle death traps,” Draco muttered against Harry's mouth, and Harry snickered.

“We'll see about that,” Harry replied while he grinned cheekily, and with a groan Draco began to drag him towards the very large and _very_ inviting bed.

They tumbled into the soft folds in a mess of limbs with their mouths still locked together. Harry had pinned Draco down at once, and Draco groaned as he arched his back, clinging to Harry as though afraid he might disappear if he let go. 

“I love you,” Draco whispered when their lips finally parted, while Harry sat up to look down at him. “ _ Gods,  _ I love you so much.” He reached up to pull Harry in, his bonded smiled softly as he allowed himself to be pulled, and their mouths came together again, their tongues twisting together in an embrace all their own.

“I love you too,” Harry breathed when they parted again, his breath coming out in a trembling gasp as Draco's hands moved to cup the throbbing erection nestled in his horrid underwear. Draco smirked, pleased with the reaction as he watched Harry's eyes flutter shut, and he ground his cock into Draco's hand. 

Harry lifted himself up, still straddling Draco as he let his head fall back and let out a soft, keening moan as Draco began to stroke Harry through the fabric. “Draco... _ God,  _ Draco...” his chest heaved, and Harry whimpered as his hips jerked forwards, the grey cotton already stained with his precome. Harry cried out again and lurched forward, burying his face in the crook of Draco's neck as his hips jerked and his seed coated the inside of his pants.

“That was embarrassingly quick,” Harry muttered against Draco's shoulder, Harry's breath tickling the sensitive flesh, and causing a shiver of desire to course through him.

“Oh, I think I can wring more than one orgasm out of you tonight,” Draco said with a small smirk, and Harry laughed softly, the sound shifting to a contented sigh as Draco's right hand moved to Harry's head, casually toying with his hair as his bonded slowly regained some of his strength.

“Afternoon,” Harry murmured while he trailed feather-light kisses along the side of Draco's throat, causing him to groan softly.

“Whatever,” he murmured, and Harry lifted his head slightly and Draco turned his at the same moment. Their kiss was more tender and less desperate, Harry's form collapsing heavily on top of his own, damp with sweat both from their exertion and the heat. Draco turned, and Harry followed his movements until they were on their side, their eyes shut as they held onto one another in a comfortable tangle of limbs.

Draco broke away, his eyes wandering up and down Harry's form, uncertain whether he'd ever grow used to the way Harry's body would effectively take his breath away. Harry reached up and stroked Draco's cheek with his thumb, and he sighed contentedly under the gentle caress. Draco reached for his wand, which was sitting on the side table (though he could not recall putting it there) and he flicked it to clean Harry up of his mess.

In the silence that followed, all that could be heard was the rush of the surf and the cries of exotic birds that Draco could not name. His own erection was still straining against his undergarments and begging for release, but Harry's afterglow was so endearing that Draco had no desire to have it end prematurely.

  
Despite his desire to wait and watch, Harry seemed to have other ideas.

  
Smirking in a manner he had  _ definitely  _ picked up from Draco, Harry placed a gentle kiss to the centre of Draco's sternum before he slid down the bedcover to his tented pants. He pulled the garment off in one smooth movement, and Draco hissed as his cock was freed from its confines. At the same moment, he felt Harry's hands grab his calves and urge him to the edge of the bed. Confused but curious, he followed Harry's silent commands and shifted until his feet were planted firmly on the floor. Harry stood momentarily to grab a pillow, then knelt between Draco's legs, the pillow resting comfortably under his knobbly knees. 

Draco's breath hitched. There was something deeply arousing about Harry kneeling between his legs, his eyes wide and pupils dilated with desire. He licked his lips, straightened up, and swallowed Draco's cock in one. Draco groaned and tossed his head back, his hips jerking slightly, but surprisingly, the small movement did not make his bonded gag. 

_ Has he been practising?  _ Draco mused, his mind a blurry haze of feeling as he focused on the sensation of Harry's mouth caressing his cock. 

It took a very short time for Harry to bring him to orgasm, and his mumbled words of, “ _ I'm close, _ ” seemed to fall on deaf ears as Harry continued, he lifting a hand to cup Draco's balls, which pushed him over the edge. He came with a soft grunt and painted Harry's throat with his semen, which Harry swallowed without a moment's hesitation.

Harry wiggled out of is own underwear before he climbed into Draco's lap, and he hooked his arms around Draco's neck, his ankles locking at the small of his back, a wide grin was painted across his swollen and flushed lips. 

“That was a first,” Draco murmured, still caught in the daze of his post-orgasm. Harry grinned again and kissed him, still perched in his lap. Draco groaned softly, tasting himself on Harry's tongue. It was a strange but not entirely unpleasant experience that sent a thrill of arousal through him despite his exhaustion from his orgasm.

“Whole new life,” Harry murmured against his mouth, “I hope that there will be all sorts of firsts with you.”

“And you call  _ me  _ cheesy,” Draco replied with a small chuckle, and Harry shrugged, but didn't try to defend himself. 

Ever so slowly, they untangled themselves from one another, and stretched out in the centre of the bed. They lay in sleepy silence, trading kisses between them and soft sentiments of  _ I love you _ back and forth. Draco had no desire to rush things along, and Harry seemed to share his sentiment.

Harry kissed him, his lips parting and tongue darting into Draco's mouth. The sudden force of it took Draco briefly off guard, and he groaned as he pressed himself close to Harry, their bodies moulding together like two halves of a whole. Draco could already feel his bonded's half-hard cock pressing against his stomach, and the sensation sent thrills of arousal straight to his groin. Harry moaned and shifted position, arranging himself so that they were cock-to-cock. He arched forward to grind his stiff member against Draco's, and the movement elicited twin moans of pleasure from both young men.

“I want you,” Harry breathed, reaching up to card his fingers through Draco's hair, the touch making him shiver. “I want you  _ in _ me, Draco.”

The words from Harry, coupled with his breathy conviction was almost too much for Draco. It took a great deal of effort to keep himself from instantly flipping Harry over and taking him at the request. Instead Draco broke the kiss and looked into Harry's eyes, seeing was his desire and trust in the sea of green, with no trace of nervousness following the words.

“You're certain?” Draco asked, and Harry immediately nodded.

“I am,” Harry replied at once; there wasn't even a note of hesitation in his words. “But...go slow?” Draco smiled, a small chuckle escaping him before he could stop it as Draco leant in to kiss him.

“Of course.”

 

~*~

 

Draco sat up and turned, while Harry matched his movements. Draco braced his knees on either side of Harry's hips, and watched him so intently that Harry felt a faint flush of pleasure pass through him.

They'd been in this position before, but to Harry it seemed to carry more weight this time. The air seemed heavier, and Harry felt both excited and nervous. He was not worried about Draco hurting him—he knew that he wouldn't—but it was still a big step for both of them.

Draco leant forward and kissed him once; the tender, unspoken reassurance that Draco would not harm him helped Harry relax, and when his bonded pulled back Harry rolled over and pushed himself up onto his knees, his thighs spread. He heard Draco's soft gasp, and Harry bowed his head as his face warmed, feeling distinctly exposed and vulnerable with his bum in the air.

He felt Draco shift behind him, his fair arm appearing as he leant forward and opened one of the bedside table's drawers and pulled out a sealed stone jar of lubricant. The arm and jar disappeared, and Harry felt himself tense reflexively. Draco seemed to sense his apprehension, and he pressed a kiss into the small of Harry's back.

“Relax,” Draco whispered, his breath ghosting against Harry's flesh, “I promise I won't do anything that you don't want me to do.” Draco's soft, gentle tones washed over him, and Harry felt some of the tension recede. “Just tell me to stop if it becomes too much,” he said, and Harry nodded to his words, feeling as though his voice had momentarily been chased away. He heard the soft scrape of Draco opening the jar, and took a breath to steady himself. He wanted this—he did, but he could not help being nervous about it, too.

Harry gasped as cold, slick fingers brushed along his cleft, teasing it for a moment before Draco sought out his hole. Harry shivered, his spine arched, and his head tilted back while he lifted his arse higher in the air; a silent encouragement for Draco to continue. He could feel his bonded hesitate for a brief moment, then his pointer finger slid past the tight ring of muscle, and into his arse. 

Harry groaned and pushed back against Draco's finger, forcing the digit in to the knuckle. It felt strange, but also somehow  _ right _ . Harry moaned softly, feeling so amazingly connected to his bonded in that moment, in ways that he never expected to be. 

Almost infuriatingly slowly, Draco slipped his finger in and out of him, and for the first time Harry understood why Draco had been so impatient with him their first time so many months earlier. Harry jerked his hips a little more roughly than necessary, and Draco caught the hint. Adding a second finger, he scissored Harry's hole with every alternate thrust, and Harry buried his face in the plush blankets. A soft moan escaped him, the sound somewhat muffled by the duvet as his body shuddered with arousal.

Draco removed his fingers, and for a moment Harry felt strangely empty. He had begun to turn his head to protest, but almost at once he felt Draco's slick erection press against him, and his bonded slowly entered his prepared entrance. Harry shuddered a gasp, reaching forward to grab fistfuls of the coverlet, while Draco's fingertips dug into Harry's hips.

Even with preparation still it stung, and Harry felt his breath hitch. His grip on the blankets tightened, and when Draco had nestled himself entirely inside Harry's arse he stopped, waiting for Harry to acclimate to his size. Harry took a shuddering breath, his chest heaving and his skin was dotted with sweat. He waited until the initial sting of pain had passed, and he gave Draco a short nod to indicate that he could continue.

Draco moved slowly at first, and Harry could feel his quivering restraint with each movement, acting as though Harry was made of fine china. Harry allowed him to continue the slow movements as he grew accustomed to the sensation, but Draco's first brush to his prostate shattered his patience. 

Harry's back arched and his head jerked back; a mangled cry escaped him and he pushed back against Draco,  _ hard.  _ Draco grunted behind him, his hips jerking forward more forcefully. Harry followed his movements, his jaw locked open in a silent blissful cry, the only sounds echoing throughout the room being Draco's soft, keening moans of pleasure. Harry reached down and stroked his weeping cock as his bonded's thrusts became jerkier and more feverish as they approached their climax.

Their cries blended together in a melodious crescendo, Harry spurting on his hand and the bedspread, and Draco filling his hole in the most delightful way. At the same moment, thin threads of gold light seemed to burst from their groins and expand, crisscrossing in the space around them, before finally enclosing the couple in a golden net. Harry stared, shocked and exhausted all at once as the net of light shrunk, and sunk into his and Draco's flesh. It did not burn, but felt pleasantly warm as it slowly disappeared beneath their skin.

Harry's surprise faded and his exhaustion returned in full measure, and they crumpled onto the bed in a tangled heap. Slowly and almost reluctantly, Draco slid his flaccid member from Harry, while they both shifted to face one another. Draco looked delightfully dishevelled, his blond hair clinging to his forehead, and his cheeks flushed. Despite the heat of the room, Harry shifted closer to him, and Draco immediately wrapped his arms around him. 

“What  _ was  _ that?” Harry asked while Draco pulled him closer. Their legs tangled lazily together in a haphazard embrace, and Harry rested his head comfortably against the pillows as he gazed up at hs husband.

“I think it may have been a form of love magic,” Draco said as he mirrored Harry, and relaxed against the pillows. Harry blinked with confusion at the statement—he could remember Dumbledore telling him about the love magic that was imbibed in the wards around the Dursleys' home from his mother's sacrifice, but he'd never heard of this form of love magic before. Harry refocused his attention on Draco as he continued, his explanation, likely after he caught Harry's perplexed expression.

“I've only heard about it,” Draco explained, “but its a magical binding born out of love and devotion. Some romantic historians believed it only happened to couples who were destined to be together...like soulmates.” Draco smiled wistfully, as though amused by the concept, but it seemed as though he did not entirely believe it.

“I don't remember Binns ever saying anything about that.” Harry felt his cheeks flush, “soulmates...that's actually a thing?”

“Well, no,” Draco replied with a small chuckle, “it's a myth, as far as I know. But our magic recognizes each other's magic, and it sort of...intertwines?” Draco shrugged, “my mother explained it to me, but I can't remember it all.”

“I sort of like the soulmate explanation better,” Harry said, and grinned a little when Draco laughed softly at his words, and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

“Me too.”

The night passed in blissful comfort. The Bonded couple slept in peace, with no monsters or curses to hinder them.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


** Epilogue ** – ** Six Years Later **

  
The little redbrick house sat peacefully under a high August sun.

Age had changed it little, but where once it was devoid of life and newly built, it now held all the marks of a home. Photographs adorned the walls, streaks of ash littered the cream carpet before the hearth, indentations and scratches had been surreptitiously stained varnished over, just barely concealing their presence.

Around the back of the house, the green lawn was dotted with a small crowd of people. Harry Potter-Malfoy stood on the porch as he watched the scene before him with a small smile.

His parents were off to one side laughing and talking with Bill Weasley, Victoire tugging on Sirius's leg while she begged him to transform; Lucius and Narcissa were seated on the porch, looking distinctly out of place at the small glass table. Their usual haughty expressions had long since faded, and they were focused on Astoria Greengrass, who was heatedly debating something with them.

Dangerously close to the vegetable garden, the twins were racing up and down the lawn, ginger children clinging to their backs and shrieking with delight as they raced. A small collection of little ones stood off to the side, jumping up and down and cheering excitedly. Hermione and Ron were sitting with Draco, chatting amiably. Even at a distance, Harry could hear his bonded trying to bait the ginger.

A soft tugging on his robes snapped him out of his daze, and he looked down. A blond, green-eyed four-year-old stood there, eyes sparkling, with his thumb perched in his mouth. Without preamble the little boy spoke at once.

“Dad, can I have a biscuit? James has a biscuit, and I want one.” Harry chuckled at little Scorpius's roundabout method of tattling on his brother.

“Did you ask Father?” Harry asked; the child hesitated, then nodded. “And what did he say?”

“He said to ask you,” Scorpius replied at once. Harry rolled his eyes, but he couldn't completely erase the smile from his face. “ _One,_ all right?” The boy's face broke into a wide smile, and he hurried back into the house, coming out a minute later with an obscenely large chocolate biscuit perched in his mouth. Harry shook his head, laughing softly as he moved over to join his bonded and his friends.

“You caved, I see,” Draco murmured following a chaste kiss. He draped an arm casually around Harry's waist, while he grinned apologetically at the blond.

“He's got the puppy-dog eyes thing down pat, it's a serious problem.” Harry replied with a laughed while he turned his gaze over to the twins, and watched a carbon-copy of himself clamber onto Fred's back. At the same time, Hugo was being hoisted up by George.

“Especially when his father is such a pushover,” Draco retorted, while Harry chuckled and shrugged. Scorpius had wandered over to his grandparents, sticky chocolate hands tugging on the arm of his surrogate mother. She allowed herself to be dragged over to Sirius and Remus, and like with everyone else, no one was yet able to say _no_ him, save perhaps Draco.

“Dad, Dad! Father! Did you see me, did you see me?” James came barrelling over, his grey eyes wide and bright, practically quivering with excited delight. He skidded to a stop just short of his two fathers, his face pink as he tried to catch his breath. “I won, I won! Uncle Fred was _real_ fast!”

“We saw,” Harry replied in a smooth imitation of his husband, which made James momentarily falter. “you might want to slow down, or you're going to get sick. Biscuits and piggyback races don't usually mix.” Harry cocked a brow at him, and James flushed red.

“Grandfather said it was okay,” he mumbled, while Harry chuckled. Of _course_ Lucius had to be at the heart of the problem.

“No more, or you'll have no room for dinner. You can have some cake _after_.” Draco's commanding voice made James nod, still a little shamefaced. He quickly ran off to rejoin the Weasley children without a goodbye.

Watching his children, Scorpius perched on Sirius's shoulders while Astoria and Remus looked on, James running and playing with the others, it still amazed him that this was his life. A home, a love, a _family_. It was everything he'd ever wanted, and it still sometimes felt like a dream. They still needed to address why they were all there—Astoria wasn't far enough along for anyone to notice her small baby bump, or the baby girl that would join their family in just nine months. Harry felt a thrill of excitement run through him at the prospect.

The hand at his waist moved to his shoulders, and a tender kiss was planted against his cheekbone. “What are you thinking about?” Draco asked softly, and Harry smiled.

“How lucky we are,” Harry replied as he turned to his bonded and wrapped his own arms around Draco's waist to give him a gentle squeeze.

Harry still did not know what the future would bring.

What would happen in a month, a year—or ten.

What he did know was that the future had never been brighter, and he could not wait to see it.

 

  
The End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Aaaaaand scene. I did mess around with the ages and stuff of the canon kids, and I'm aware that I skipped over Albus. In terms of my fic-Harry's feelings towards Dumbledore, it made more sense to me to omit him. 
> 
> I feel like I'm letting go of a child in finishing this story. It's the longest piece of fiction, fan or original I have ever written. (Did I say that already? It's possible, heh.) Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read this story, comment on it, kudo it, bookmark, subscribe, rec it, or anything else. I had no idea how this story would be received when I first started working on it, and even now I'm amazed at how well people have responded to it. Thank you so, so, so much.  
> Until next time,  
> James  
> [xox](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TkVjkvaeFnQ)


End file.
